P0 

aw 



3231 



PQ 2231 
.D32 
1856b 
Copy 1 



FRENCH'S 



STt)e Stctinn. fBmion 
No. CXXIX. 



C A M I L L E , 



om 



THE FATE OF A COQUETTE 

ADAPTED FROM TIIE FRENCH OF 

ALEXANDRE DUMAS JR. 



TO WHICH ARE ADDED, 

« Doeoription of ,„. Co.,um.-Ca s , of , h . Character-Entrances and E,i» 

Stage Business. 

A« PERFORMED AT THE AMERICAN THEATRE* 



**« ONLY CORRECT EDITION. 



New York 
SAMUEL FRENCH 

PUBLISHER 

26 W. 22D Street 



London 
SAMUEL FRENCH, Ltd. 

26 Southampton St. 
Strand. London. W. C. 



Monofirrapfc 



Curt of tfce Characters. — Camill* 



Gamilie, 

Armand Duval, 

Mons. Duval, (his father,) 

Gaston Eieux, 

Count De VarviUe, 

Qustave, - 

Messenger, 

Arthur, - 

Madams Prudence. 

Bichette, - 

Nanine, - 

Olympe, - 

<4<rt l*f — March. 
Act 2d— April. 
Act 3d — August. - 
^ic* 4*A — October. 
Act 5th — Winter. - 



National Theatre, 

Cincinnati, 1856. 
Miss Matilda Heron 
Mr. Keeble. 

" Gregory. 

" Watkins. 

" Stetson. 

" Donnelly. 

" Watson. 

M Ward. 

Mrs. Gregory. 

Miss Melissa. 

" Stevens. 

11 Greener. 



St. Louis 
Theatre, 1866. 

Miss Matilda Herou 
Mr G. Pauncefort 

11 McMillan. 

( S. E. Browne 

11 C. Waliis. 

" Collier. 

11 Jacques 

" Matthews. 
Mrs Silsbee. 

" Harris. 
Mrs. W. W. Alien 
Miss Stewart. 

The Supper Scene. 

The Pledge of Love. 

- The Sacrifice. 

- The Fete. 

The Eleventh Ho\ir. 



The Costumes are of the present day, but the characters should change 
for each act. 

THE TRUE CAMILLE. 

Astor Housk. June 23, 1850. 

£a.mi. French, Esq. — Sir: While in Paris, a year ago, I translated and adapted 
for my own use, the play of "Camille." A few months since, I published this play 
In Cincinnati, with notice of copyright attached. On my return Nonh, I am handed 
a copy of it republished by you. By this act I am deprived of the profit which should 
alone accrue hi me. But this is not the injury of which I complain, for while yoi 
retain my text, word for word, untouched, you have dropped my name from the title 
page, and ;n its place inserted a line, (The only correct edition) which implies that 
every copy Dearing my name, le spurious ; indeed, that I, in claiming its authorship 
have assumed a merit not belonging to me The false position in which this series 
of wrongs has placed me requires redress. Waiting which, 

I remain, your obedient servant, MATILDA HERON 

Nbw-Yori, June 24. 185©V 

Miss Matilda Hrror— Mada.n: Your favor of the 23d is at hand, and I reply Id 
.11 frankness, that since receiving your book I have carefully compared the same wit k 
any edition of "Camille," and And, to my surprise, that in the text there is no material 
difference. I was told by the party who prepared ray copy for the press that It was 
iiflentnt from the edition then published. I regret I was deceived. My copy has dons 
vou gre;t 1 'njustics. I freely admit it. and will cheerfully correct. In my nextedl 
Hon of your pby, I will restore fhf original title pflge, the names of characters, «nd, 
with \ our permission, retain the line tint so justly belongs »o It — (tub only co'rrecv 
■ ditiow). Your*. v«r« respectfully SAML. FUHNCH, 121 Nassau-street. 



•H32. 
'5t f- 



CAMILLE. 



ACTL 

krwn I.-— u4 handsome apartment in the house of Camillb — eleganttf 
furnished with large mirrors, vases of flowers on the table — Tete-i-tette, 
chairs, tables, dec. A fireplace with afire in it l. 2 e. A piano a. H. 
A large mirror L. u. e. A large window r. 2. e. with handsome cur- 
tains, large folding doors in c. leading to the hall. De Var villi 
stated in an easy chair l. at the fire. Najjine discovered arranging 
the furniture. As the curtain rises, the door-bell is heard off R. a 

Var. Some one has rung the bell. 

Nan. Yes, I hear; Louis will attend to the door. 

Var. Perhaps it is Camille. 

Nan. No, not yet She said she would return at half-past ten, and 
t is not ten yet. [Nichette speaks without] Ah, it is Mademoiselle 
Miehette'e voice. 

Nich. ] Entering a D.] Oh, excuse me I I thought Mademoiselk 
Ijiuoille was here. 

bTu?i. No, Nichette, she is not in. Do you wish to see her? 

Nich. I was merely passing the door, and I felt like coming up U 
•ay good night to her. But since she is not here, you will ple*e# 
\e\\ her that I called. 

San. Will you wait awhile? She will soon be in. 

Nich. No, thank you 1 Gustave is at I he door. Is she weL ? 

Nan. Ah, always the same. 

Xich. Did she leave with you the little bundle that I requ«*Ud <A 

1 the other day ? 

Son. Yes : [ Pointing to a bundle on the table,'] but you are not go 
11, g to garry it? 

Nich. Why not? It is not heavy. 

Nan. You Dad better let me send it to you and tave you tin 
.rouble, 



# 0AMILL1. 

Ntch. /thank you. [Taking bundle.] But nothing is a tro&b!# 
that I do for Camille. Please tell her that I will do these very nicely, 
and bring them to her in a few days, and that I left my love for her 
Adieu, Nanine ! Adieu, Monsieur. [Exit, c. d. and off b. 

Var. Umph ! A very pretty girl ! Who is she 1 

Nan. That is Mademoiselle Nichette. 

Var. Nichette 1 That's the name of a cat, not a woman. 

Nan It is a pet name that Mademoiselle Camille gave her. They 
we very fond of each other. They used to be companions and worked 
together in the same room. 

Var What 1 Worked 1 Did Mademoiselle Camilla ever work 1 

Nan Yes — she was an embroidress. 

Var. Why, I never knew that before. 

Nan. It was your own fault, Monsieur, for Mademoiselle has madt 
ao secret of it. 

Var. This little puss-puss — what's her name 1 Ah ! this NicketU 
as you call her, is rather pretty. 

Nan. And more — she is wise. 

Var. Wise ! Ah, yes — well, wise is a good word. But who is thii 
Monsieur Gustave who was waiting for her below 1 

Nan. L.W is her husband 

Var. Oh, then he is Monsieur Nichette ! 

Nan. That is, he is not her husband yet ; but he will be, and thai 
is the same thing. 

Var. I understand. She is wise as the world goes. But she has a 
lover. 

Nan. Who loves but her, and who will marry her, and make her a 
good husband. And take my word for it she is a good girl, and de 
serves all the happiness he can bestow upon her. 

Var. So thrives every body's suit but mina Nanine, do you think 
Mademoiselle Camille cares any more for me than she used to ? That 
is, do you think she really loves me ? 

Nan. Not the least bit in the world ! 

Var. What 1 Pheugh ! [Aside.] A strange way of answering a 
civil question that girl's got! [To Nanine.] But it must be said 
that she has strange taste, or she never could endure the tediou* 
visits of that old Monsieur de Meuriac. They must be very annoy 
tug 

Nan. You would not think so if you could hear how Madam speaks 
jf him. Besides poor old man, it is the only happiness he has, and 
be regards her as his own child. 

Var. Oh, yes ! By the way, I heard of that very pathetic and in 
toresting story ; but unhappily I cannot believe it 

Nan. Then listen to me, and I will endeavor to convince you 
There are many evil things said of Madam, and with truth ; but thai 
is the very reason why things that are not true should not be said. 
About two years ago, Mademoiselle Camille, after a long illness, deter- 
mined to visit the celebrated waters of Bagneres, to recover, if pos- 
sible her health. I accompanied her. Among the invalids at th« 
hotel there was a lovely young girl, the *ame age as Mademoiselle 



CAMILLE. ■ 

"Janulle, Buffering from the same complaint, and bearing such strong 
resemblance to her, that wherever they went, thev were called the 
twin sisters. This young girl was Mademoiselle ae Meuriac, daugh 
ter of the Duke. 

Var. Mademoiselle de Meuriac died* 

#cul She did. 

Var. Oh, yes ! I have heard this story before ; and the Duk« 
adopted her as his child, made her his heiress, and introduced hei 
into society, where she is loved and honored. This was not twt 
years since ; and to-night she is at the opera, the Queen of the Came 
has, fifty thousand francs in debt — 

&an. Which you have kindly offered to pay. Yes, you are right, 
Monsieur de Varville. Mademoiselle is gtyer now than she ever wa# 
before ; but no one knows her heart. Ah, sir, you would have pitied 
her had you seen her efforts to please the world in which the Duke 
de Meuriac sought to gain her a position. She was so gentle, sc 
child-like, it seemed as if the spirit of the dead girl had left its inno- 
cence with her. Day by day all who knew her grew to love her. 
The Duke was called away. In his absence her story reached the 
circle in which she moved. From that moment it was closed against 
her. She was shunned; and in their cruel sneers they told her to go 
back to Paris and wear Camelias. She did return to Paris — met old 
friends, who gave a warm welcome to her. [Door-bell rings, o. r.] 
Ah, here she is ! Shall I tell her what you were saying ? 
Var. No, Nanine — you are too amiable to make mischief! 

Emitter Camille, c. from a., throwing her cloak on chair a. 

Cam, \To Nurura.] Order supper. Olimpe and Gaston will 
be here presently. I met them at the opera. [M/xit Nanine, o. a. 
Seeing Varville, who rises and bows.] Ah, you are there! 

Var. Yes, it is my destiny to await you. 

Cam. And it is my destiny to find you ever here on my return. 

Var. And it shall continue to be until you forbid me your door. 

Cam. Indeed I am I never to enter this house without finding you 
here before me f What have you got to say, now that you are here I 

Var. You know the only subject of my heart 

Can. Heart I I am sick of that 

Var. Is it my fault if I love you too well f 

Cam. There it is again 1 My good friend, if 1 were to lister, tc 
^very man who tells me he loves me, I would net have time tc 
breakfast For the hundredth time, I repeat, Mon. de Varville, it 
will not do! You are losing time. You are ever welcome to entej 
here — when I go out, and to leave when 1 enter ; but if you will *n 
•ist on speaking to me of your love, you must not come at *1L 

Var. A year ago, at Bagneres, Mademoiselle Camille, yon th« ught 
differently. 

Cam. Yes ; but that was a year ago. At Bagneres. A vo-* Jul) 
place. I was sick. Things have changed. This is Paris. mi 
better now. 

Var, Especially since f Jie Duke de Meuriac has adopted you 



I CAlilLLE 

Cam You ara a fool ! 

Var. Or, perhaps, since the Count de Giray has been the Jtosaj 
one. 

Cam. Monsieur de Varville, I am at liberty to love whom I please. 
That is purely my affair— certainly not yours. And if you havi 
nothing else to say, go home. Good night. 

[He goes up and sits at the fire. She goes to the piano and plays. 

R. H. 

Var. Bravo ! Bravo ! 

Cam. Are you not gone yet ? 

Var. No, not yet ; I am waiting your better humor. [She coughs. 
He runs to her.] You are ill, Mademoiselle Camille. What's the 
matter ? 

Cam. Nothing ; I will be better — when you are gone. 

Var Ah, I see my star is not propitious. So, I will say good oight 
Camille, shall I call to-morrow at one ? 

Cam. Yes, do. [Aside.] I shall be out from twelve till five. 

Var. Adieu. [ Goes up. 

Enter Nanine, c. d. from r. — Naninb, Mademoiselle Olimpb and 
Monsieur Gaston. 

Cam. Come in Olimpe, I thought you were never coming to see me 
any more. 

Oli. It was all his fault. 

Gas. Yes, all my fault ! It always is, you know. Ah, how art 
you, Varville? 

Var. How are you, Gaston ? Glad to see you. 

Gas. You sup with us to-night; do you not? 

Var. Do I, Mademoiselle Camille ? 

Cam. No — no ! Why, I thought you bid me good night just now. 

Var. So I did ; but I thought you called me back. 

Gas. Well, my little girl, how have you been all this time? 

Cam. Oh, very well. 

Gas. So much the better. In passing the Cafe de Paris, I ordered 
some fine oysters and a basket of champagne of a certain brand, 
which they keep expressly for my use. It is excellent, I assure you t 
80 vive la joi ! — there will be no scarcity of amusement 

Oli. There never is when you are about. 

Gas. Mademoiselle Olimpe, you are a wicked woman. 

Oli. No wonder, I keep bad company. [To Camille.] Will Madam* 
Prudence be here ? 

Cam. Yes, she should be here by this time [Calls at window, B.] 
Madame Prudence ! 

Oli. Oh, Madame Prudence is your neighbour, is she ? 

Cam. Yes, she lives just opposite. It is very convenient When I 
want her, I have only to open the window and call. [Cans.] Ma- 
iame Prudence ! 

Gas. Who is Madame Prudenc€ ? 

Oli. She i« a milliner, and has but one customer — Made iioiftelU 

Camilla 



OAMTLLB. 1 

Gas. What, Mademoiselle Camille, do yon wea* all her bcnne\« 1 

Cam. Oh no — heaven forbid ! It is bad enough to have to pay for 
Inem. But she is a good soul, with a heart as light as her purse 
[Calls.] Madame Prudence ! I 

Mad. P. [ Without, b. 2 b.] Here I am. 

Cam. Well, here we are waiting for you. Why do you not come 1 

Mad. P. I cannot just now, 

Cam What detains you 1 

Mad. P. A young man whom I have not seen for a long time hat 
|ust stepped in to see me, and I cannot leave him alone. 

Cam. Then bring him along. Quick ! Quick ! Ugh ! how cold it 
Is ! Monsieur de Varville, do pray put some wood on that fire, 1 ana 
frozen here. Make yourself useful, for you are not agreeable. 

[ Varville fixes fir§. 

Enter Naninb, o. d. from b. 

Nan. Madame Prudence and Monsieur Armand Duval. 

Cam. Bid them enter. [Sits e.] [Exit Namn* 

Enter Armand and Madame Pbttdbncb, o. from b. 

Mad. P. My dear Camille, allow me to present to you Monsieur 
Armand Duval. 

Cam. Must I rise 1 

Arm. No, Mademoiselle ; it is not necessary. 

[ Goes and speaks to others. 

Cam. [To Mad P.] Who is your friend 1 

Mad. P. The man of all Paris who loves you the most. 

Cam. Indeed ! Tell Nanine to place another knife and fork upon 
the supper table ; for I dare say that love will never take away his 
appetite. 

Mad. P. Camille, I am serious. That young man loves you almost 
to madness. 

Cam. Tes ! But he will not go mad. 

Olimpb presents Abman d to Gaston. 

Gas. Duval 1 Oh, yes ; I heard that name before. Are you any 
relation to Monsieur Duval, that gruff, crusty old gentleman, who 
was sometime Keceiver-General at Tours 7 

Arm. (o.) Oh, yes; he is my father. Do you know him 1 

Gas. I have had that pleasure. I met him at the house of the 
Baroness de Nersay. Also your mother, Madam Duval, who was a 
very beautiful and charming lady. 

Arm. Alas, sir ! she has been dead for three years. 

Gas. Pardon me, sir ! I was not aware of it, or I should not hav« 
recalled her memory. 

Arm. Oh, sir ! you can never offend by reminding me of my mo 
ther ; for next to possessing affections so beautiful and pure as hers 
•* the remembrance of them when they are beyond our reach. 

'/as. You are a: only child. 

Arm. Oh, no ! 1 have a dear sister. [They go up 



• OAXILXA. 

Cam [To Mad. P.] I begin to like your friend 

Mad P. I guessed it would be so, and so I told him bt fore we i 

Cam. And did he really tell you he loves me I 

Mad. P. To be sure he did and more ; I knew it long ago. But yoi 
laugh so at the idea of love, that I did not dare to say so. 

OH. What are you two whispering about there f 

Cam, (l.) Listen and you Bhall know. [ Varville drumming on iht 
pianOy b.] Monsieur de Varville, will you ever cease that ncis6 f 

[He stops 

Vat. Noise I Why you told me to plav all the time. 

Cam. That was when I was alone with you ; but I need no pas 
time now. 

Mad. P. Well, as I was saying, for two \ears you have been his only 
thought You may remember when you were ill a year ago, before 
you went to Bagneres, that during the three months you were con- 
fined to bed, you were told a young man called every day to learn 
how you were ; but never left his name. 

Gam. Oh, I remember. 

Mad P. It was he. 

Cam. Monsieur DuvaL 

Arm. Madam! 

Cam, Do you know what they are telling me here : — that when 
I was ill a year ago, you called each day to learn how I was. 

Arm, It is true, Mademoiselle. 

Cam. Ah, Monsieur Varville, do you hear that f 

Var. (r, o.) Why I haven't known you a whole year. 

Cam. And Monsieur Duval has known me ]VL$t five minutes. 

Najtikb and servants bring in supper table from o. d. and place *l 
in front a Set chairs. 

Mad r. That's right, Nanine you are a sensible girl I certain- 
ly should have died of hunger if that table had not appeared. 

Var, Adieu, Camille, I am going. 

Jam. I don't believe you. 

Var. You may, for I am off. 

Cam. When shall I see you again f 

Var. Whenever you please. 

Cam. Well, that is the most agreeable thing you have said to-nig'ut 
Adieu I [Exit Varvillb, a n. of t 

N 01% Adieu, Monsieur de Varville ; don t forget your promise. 

Gas Here, save your politeness ; you will want it presently. 

Cam. Now, my friends, to supper. Come, be seated. Armani 
you will sit next to me. [They sit at tahU 

Mad P. Well, Camille, I think you treat that poor Count de Var 
rille very badly. 

Cam. Poor? You would not think him poor if you heard La 
•ounling over his revenue. 

01% 1 wish he would count some of it over to me. 

(Jus Are you not satisfied, madam, with your present choioe 9 

OU Well, 1 oiurht to be, after th*t beautiful present you made » u 



OAMtLLM. I 

the other day. Camille, you cannot guess * uat he gave me on m$ 
birth day. 

Cam. No, what was it 1 

Oli A carriage. 

Cam. A carriage ! I am sure that was a very handsome present 

Oli. But I have no horses, and he wont buy me any. 

Cam. Never mind — they will follow. Keep the carriage. 

Oli. Alas ! it is only a candy one. 

Gas. My dear girl, if you desire to prove the sincerity of yo* 
affections, love me for myself alone. 

Oli. There's a modest request. 

Mad. P. What is that dish 1 

Gas. Partridges. 

Mad. P. Give me some of them. 

Gas. A wing you mean. 

Mad. P. Monsieur Gaston, you are a boy. 

Gas. You must forgive me, I was not aware that ladies' appotita 
grew with their age. 

Mad. P. Age ! And what age do you suppose I ami 

Gas. I do not know. Indeed I never studied ancient history. Bui 
you do not look more than forty, upon my honor. 

Mad. P. Forty Thirty-six, if you please. 

Gas. Forty and thirty-six.— Seventy— well, it does look more liki 
that, I confess. 

Mad P. Camille, will you speak to Monsieur Gaston 1 He is do- 
ing all he can to take away my appetite. And what are you doing 
there ? You are not eating at all. Hand me some oysters, dear, and 
fill up Monsieur Duval's glass. 

Cam. Good ! Let us fill to my health, Armand ! 

All. To the health of Camille ! 

Cam. Gaston, you have not helped Olimpe. 

Gas. Haven't I, though 1 

Mad. P. Come, sit by me. I'll help you. Gaston has no idea ol 
how to administer to a delicate appetite. 

Gas. Madame Prudence, have you ever had j our throat examined 1 

Oli. Don't heed him, Madame Prudence. He is thinking of Aman- 
da's throat, and the time she caught cold in the yellow carriage. 

Cam. Oh, by the way, yes ! What was that about the yellow car 
riage 1 Do let me hear it. 

Gas. My dear, will you come sit by mel I'll mix a salad for you 

Mad. P. No, thank you, she is better here. Will >ou have anothei 
fcird, my dear 1 

Gas That old woman must have a cast-iron stomach. 

Mad P. What do you have supper for, if it is not to eat 1 

Oli. Why, you see, Madame Prudence, som Uimes persons havn 
■uppers prepared for them that they do not eat ; and sometimes per- 
sons go to great expense to have a supper served up in elegant style, 
ft little out of town, and invite a beautiful girl to sup with them , 
ftnd when f.hey call to accompmy her, they arrive just in time ta 



tV OAMILUt. 

*ee her drive off U the supper with another, »nd ux the very yeLfcw 
carriage they had brought for herl 

Gas. Mademoiselle Olimpe that was a very stupid story 

Oli But the sequel is very interesting. Shall I tell itf 
All — (except Gastov.) Yes I yes! the sequeL 

Cam. Let us drink to the hero of the yellow carriage. 

AIL To the hero of the yellow carriage ! 

Gas. I'll drink, if it's only for tne sake of the wine. Down go^i 
>he yellow carriage. [Runt to the piano.] Shall I play you the l*«t 
new polka? 

All. Yes! yes! 

Cam. Now for a dance. Clear away the table. 

[Servants clear the table and carry it out the a » 

Mad. P. I have not finished yet 

Cam. A polka ! A polka ! 

[Gaston plays. They dance. Camillk grows sick 

Gas. W hat's the matter, Mademoiselle Camille f 

Cam. Nothing! That cough again. That's alL 

Arm. You are ill, madam! 

Mad P. Give her something to eat. 

Cam, A glass of water, please. I will be better soon. It if 
nothing. See, I am well, already. Monsieur Duval, and you, Gas- 
con, step in*> the other room, and before you have your segars lit, 
. will be with you. [Aside to the ladies.] Go with them. I am not 
well. 

Mad P. Y<*f , let us leave her. She is better alone when these at- 
tacks arrive. [Aside.] It is always the way. Just as we are enjoying 
ourselves, on comes that cough again, and all our fun is over. 

[Exeunt Gastom Olimpb and Madame Pbudbncb a v. and 
offh. 

Arm. (r.) [Aside.] Poor girl! 

Cam, (l.) [Looking in mirror.] How pale I am! Ah! 

Arm. Well, Mademoiselle, how do you feel now f 

Cam, Ah, Monsieur Armand, is it you f Better, thank yon. I 
have grown used to these of late. 

Arm. You are killing yourself I would I had the right to sav« 
you from yourself. 

Cam. It is too late. Why, what's the matter with you t 

Arm. You have made me ill. 

Cam. Don't be foolish. Pray go into the next room and enjoy 
yourself with the others. See, they do not heed me. 

Arm. Ah, Carmlle, let me be your nurse — your doctor. I will 
guard you like a brother — shield you from this feverish exist* 
•nc* y which is bringing you to your grave — surround ycj with 
a thousand little cares that will make you in love with life — then 
when you are strong and well, and can enJDy it, I will be as youi 
guiding star, and lead your thcughts to find content in a home mor« 
worthy of you. 

Cam. Monsieur Duval, if you would not offend me, let us changi 
this fubject Do not deceit- yourself — you cannot deceive me Yoi 



UAMILLJS. 

art not speaking to the cherished daughter of society; but to • 
woman of the world — friendless, fearless — loved by those whoa* 
ranity she gratifies — despised by those who ought to pity her. 

Arm. Camille, have you a heart t 

Cam, Why do you ask f 

Arm. Because, if you have you could not make so light a matte* 
>f my word*. 

Cam. Are you really serious I 

Arm, Very serious. 

Cam, Madame Prudence toiG me you were sentimental. 

Arm. She could not tell you how I love you. 

Can*. And you still think you love me ? 

Arm Camille, I cannot jest. This is the most serious moment of 
my ufe. My destiny is in your hands. You are young, lovely, love- 
able. The world in which you live is at your feet — smiles when yon 
imile — is gay when you are gay. But does it weep with you, and 
in your sad and silent hours, does it hover around you with it* 
eare, and cheer you with its love ? No ! no ! Then leave this tainted 
sphere. It is not worthy of you. Listen to the voice of one who 
truly loves you. Give me leave to find your heart and teach it how 
tc throb anew — to make it my shrine, my sanctuary, my home. 

Cam. Are you sure you would take good care of it f 

Arm. Trust me. 

Cam. For how long f 

Arn. Forever. 

Cam. How long has this lasted t 

Arm, For two years. 

Cam. How came it you never told me of this before t 

Arm. I never knew you until now. 

Cam. You could very easily have made my acquaintance. When 
I was ill, and you came each day to inquire after me, why did you 
not ask to see me ? 

Arm. Pardon me I 

Cam, Why, you loved me then f 

Arm, Yes, too well to take a liberty I would not allow another te 
take in the house of a woman I respected. 

Cam. So you really think you love me 1 

Arm. When you shall give me the right to say so, you will one 
dav learn how welL 

Cam. It were better never told. 

Arm. And why I 

Cam. Because it can result in but one of two things. First, that I 
will not believe it; o? believing it, cause you to wish I never had 
I am but a sorrowful companion, at the best Always sick, impa 
tient, nervous, fretful — or, if gay, a gayety more terrible than tears 
— expensive, too — a revenue of thirty thousand francs, and alwayi 
in debt This may do for the dear old Duke, who loves me as hit 
ehttd, has plenty of money, and no one to spend it It would not da 
for yon. Now we'll talk sense. Give me your hand. Let us joia 
the others, and 111 light your u far. 



It CJLMPLL*. 

Arm. Excuse me, Camille. Enter, if yon will; but allow n« U 
remain 

Cam. What's the matter! 

Arm, Pardon me. I am not .velL 

Gain. Shall I prescribe for you t 

Arm Speak 

Gam. Go home and go to bed. Dream all night of some dear girl 
more worthy of your love than I. If indeed you love me, you hav« 
wronged yourself. You love too well to be unloved But lo?t 
wisely. Choose from a holier sphere than this the womar vou would 
love. Then seal that love upon the altar. Take her to your boson? 
fresh with a parent's blessing ; or, if she have none, let he*' merit 
that of heaven ! 

Arm. Camille, have you ever loved t 

Cam. Never. 

Arm. Thanks ! thanks ! If you but knew how I have sought to 
learn what you have told me in that little word — how I have fol- 
lowed in your path — how I have cherished Ik six months a little 
button which fell from your glove 

Gam. I would not believe it I have heard these tales before. 

Arm. You are right I know not what I say. I am a fool! Yet, 
laugh ! I deserve it alL Good night 

Cam. Armand. 

Arm. Did you call t 

Cam. Let us not part in anger. 

Arm. Anger 1 Oh, Camille, if you could read my heart ! 

Gam. Then let us make it up. Come and see me often. We will 
■peak of this again. 

Arm. Ah, still you laugh. 

Cam. Speak, Armand ; I am not laughing now. 

Arm. Will you be loved f 

Cam. For how long I 

Arm, For eternity! 

Cam. Alas ! my life may yet be happy — it cannot b« long — and 
short as it may be, it may outlive your promise. 

Arm. Now, who is melancholy I 

Cam. Not L The weight that chained me to her throne's removed, 
and all around breathes ecstacy ! But it grows late, and you must 
away. 

Arm. When shall I see you again f 

Cam, [Giving him a Camelia,] When this little flower is faded, 
L ting it back to me again. 

Arm, Ah, Camille, you have made me blessed. 

Gam, It is a strange flower, Armand — pale, scentless, cold ; but 
sensitive as purity itself Cherish it, and its beauty will excel the 
loveliest flower that grows ; but wound it with a single touch, you 
never can recal its bloom, or wipe away the stain. Take it and re 
member me. New go. 

Arm. Adieu ! [Exit o d, and of ■ 



CAMILLB. II 

Cam. He loves me. There is a new found meaning to th(\H, *6npli 
vjrds that never fell upon my ears before. 

[Sinks into a seat, r. Madame Pbudencb, Olimpb and Qabtoi 
enter, dressed fantastically in each others 7 hats and bonnets 
laughing. 
Cam. What on earth have you been doing 1 

Mad. P. We have been amusing ourselves in h. nor c the new 
alliance. 

Cos. Yes, I am to be bride. 
Mad. P. No ! Bridesmaid you mean. 

Qas. [Mimicking a lady.] If I can't be a bride I shan't be anything 
else, I assure you. 
Oh. Now let's rehearse the bridal dance. 
Gas. Oh, yes ; a dance ! a Qttnce. Camille, play for us 
[Camillb plays on piano. — Fantastic dance. — Gaston danset 
with Madame Prudence, who finally faints in his arms. — 
They all run to her. 

BJTD OF ACT L 



ACT IL 

6cB5E — Same as xn Act I. — Nakikb and Madams Prudefcb dis- 
covered. — Camillb enters c. from l. as curtain rises. 

Cam. Ah, Mad. Prudence, you are come. Have you seen the Duke 1 

Mad. P. Yes, here is something he sent you. [Gives a packet of 
bank notes.] My dear Camille, can you lend me three or four hundred 
francs 1 I am in need of a little money this morning. 

Cam. Here they are. [Gives money.] Did you tell the Duke of my 
intention to go to the country 1 

Mad. P. Yes. 

Cam. What did he say 1 

Mad. P. That you are right — that nothing could be better foi youi 
health. And you will go 1 

Cam. I hope so. I was to see that house to-day again. 

Mad. P. What is the rent of it ? 

Cam. Two thousand francs. 

Mad. P. Camille, this looks very much like love. 

Cam. I am afraid it is. It certainly is something. Listen how my 
heart beats. 

Mad. P. Oh, dear ! this is an awful state of affairs. I woLder if 
It's catching. 

Cam. It is near ten o'clock. He will soon be here [Door-bell 
rings.] Ah, 'tis he ! Run Nanine, open the door. [Exit Nahlsb. 

Mad. P. You are mistaken. No one rang. 

Cam. Even so. There is a speechless thrilling ic my breast thai 
veils me he is near. 

Mad P. I am off' 



14 C-MILLK. 

Cmm. Stay till be cornea. 

Mad. .°. Oh, no 1 I must go home and pray for yon. You are U 

tonger. 

Cain. Perhaps I am. [/Site a c 

Arm and Enters, a from m, 

Arm. Camillel 

Cam, Armand ! I knew your ling. 

Mad. P. Oh, you ungrateful man 1 

Arm. Forgive me, Madam Prudence I saw but her I Are yon 
irellt 

Mad. P. Yes, all are well now ; so I will leave you, my children, 
in old woman is like a doctor, — never thought of when all goef 
well ; but the first we send for when there's a wound to heaL 

{\£fet*MAD. P., a off* 

Cam, Come sit by me. 

Arm. Here I am. [Sit* by her, a. a 

Gam. Do you love me more and more f 

Arm. No ! 

Cam. Howl 

Arm. I love you so much, I have no room for more. 

Cam. What have you been doing to-day I 

Arm. I was to see Madam Prudence Nichette, Gustavo— every- 
where that I could hear your name. 

Cam. You have been idle 

Arm. No, I wrote to my father, telling him he need no longei 
a wait me at Tours. 

Cam. You may offend him. That must not be. 

Arm, No, he will not expect me. What have you been doing all 
day! 

Cam. Thinking of you. 

Arm. True! 

Cam. True ! And manufacturing grand project*. 

Arm. What were theyf 

Cam. I must not telL 

Arm. I have no secrets from you. 

Cam. Listen. I cannot tell you at present what my projects are 
; at should they succeed, I can tell you their result 

Arm What will it be ? 

Cam. To bring me nearer you. 

Arm. Oh, tell me how. 

Cam. By passing the summer months together in some quiet spot 
c the country. In a few days from this I shall know the result, and 
f ju shall know the cause. Till then you must not ask me. 

Arm. And is it you alone, CamiLe, who have formed these pio 
•ects f 

Cam. What a strange question ! 

Arm. Antwer me. 

Cam. Well, 'tis I alone. 

Arm Aud you alone will execute themJ 



CAMILLX. II 

Cam I, alone. 

Arm, CAmille, he n 7 a. .ver read MancjQ Leseaa* I 

Cam. I have. 

Arm. Vo you ' e j> ember the story of Manon I 

Oam. It haa bean some time since I read the book. 

irm. I wUl remind you. She loved a young man, who loved Vei 
• ois w/e ; but who was poor — too poor to meet the large expense 
K .* taste and style demanded. She, too, formed a project, and 
Bv led it to a wealthy friend, who gladly aided it- -gave her all she 
atV^d — and while she thanked him for the wealth he had bestowed 
api\* her, she smiled upon another, upon whom sh€ lavished it Ca- 
mill •. you are too truthful to be that woman ; and I am too honor* 
ble in tw that man. 

Ca»n. What does this mean ? 

Arm That if your schemes at all resemble hei i, I will not be a 
partne\ »n them. 

Cam Jood. Let us change the theme. It hai been a beautiful 
day. 

Arm [Looking out of window.] Beautiful! 

Cam. '(Tie Champs Elysees crowded! 

Arm, Crowded ! 

Cam, Change of the moon to-night, I believe f 

Arm. Dtril take the moon. Camille, I am d t thinking of the 
moon. 

Cam. Blither am L 

Arm, Wfeat would you have me do? You kn< w that I am jeal- 
ous of your very thoughts, and what you told me a moment ago 

Cam. Are you going to be a second edition of ihat book ? Listen 
to me. I lov* yt** I never told you so before. For that love I ask 
your confidence. You are not jealous of that poor old man, the 
Duke. You know the sacred sentiments which bind him to my in- 
terests. That I am not where he would place me, was the fault of 
those who drove me from it. It was no act of las. Could he see me 
where he would have me, his aged heart would know another joy. 
Let me have my way. It shall lead to your It r e, be sure ! Is it aL 1 
^ght! 

A rm But — but — 

Cain. Come— come Say it is. 

Arm No, not yet 

Cam. Then good night 

Arm. Good night ! Why you would not se*d me away ao toon t 

Cam No — no ; but — you may remain a little longer. 

Arm, Perhaps you are expecting some on« I 

Cam. Are you going to •ommence again I 

Arm. You will not deceive me now. 

Cam. How long have I known you! 

Arm. Four days. 

Cam, If I did not love you I would not 1 iow you jm*. So if jtm 
tore me, say good night, and don't compiau 

Arm. Oh, forgive me. 



6 OAMILLB. 

Cant, If this continues, I shall spend my life in forgiving yo*. 
Ann. No — no ! It is my last offence. Good night 
Cam. Come early to-morrow and we will breakfast together. 
Arm. Once more, good night ! [Exit o. D. and off ■ 

Cam. Life ! Life ! You are a puzzle I Who would have made m* 
believe four days ago, that that man, a stranger to me, would to-daj 
•o occupy my heart and thought f Can this be love ; or ^s it maa 
ness f Does he indeed love me f Armand, why — why have you coim 
across my path f I was happy till you came 1 and now — oh 1 Yel 
in this struggle between hope and fear, there's something whispers 
m s of happier hours. / love, and I am loved I Ah, there is wealth 
enough of joy in those dear words to cancel an eternity of care ! 

Enter Najtisb 

Nan. Mons. de Yarville. [Exit Na* inb, a and off a. 

Enter Yarville, a from e, 

Cam, Good evening, Mons. de Yarville. 

Var. Good evening, Camille. You are looking charming. Art 
f ou welL 

Cam. Yery. 

Var. You got my note t 

Cam. I did. 

Var. Just half-past ten o clock. [Looking at his watch.] You see 1 
am punctual. 

Cam. You wrote me that you wished to speak with me on business 

Var. Yes,, Have you been to supper t 

Cam. Why do you ask f 

Var. Because, if you will come and sup with me, we can talk this 
matter over in quiet 

Gam. Are you very hungry! 

Var. Yes, 1 am. That dinner at the club has cuite given me an 
appetite. 

Cam. What are they doing at the club to-night 

Var. Playing when I left 

Cam. Who won? 

Var. Mons. Gaston whom I met here the other night Ap- 
propos, who was that odd-looking sort of person — Monsieur — Mod 
■eur something that Mad. Prudence introduced! 

Cam. Ill at gentleman was Monsieur Armand Duval, my friend 

Fa-. Apropos, did any one leave here as I entered! 

tlattu Not that I know of Who was it f 

Var. That is precisely what I should like to know. As I ascended 
frum the carriage, some one watched me until I reached the door, and 
when h^ saw my face, he hurried away as if I had been a creditor. 

Ham Well, Count, let's to business. What have you got to aay U 
u« \ 

Var. Camilk, who are your creditors t 

Om I have not the remotest idea. 



CAMILLE. \1 

Var. Why, yc a told me that you were twenty thousand franca la 
lebt Is it paid f 

Cam. Not that I know o£ 

Var. But you know the parties to whom you owe it ? 

Cam. I have not that honor, personally. I know their address. 

Var. Where is it f 

Cam. Somewhere there. [Hands an account-book.] 

Var. Yes, here it is all summed up. Twenty — why here **• «*a 
more. It is thirty thousand francs. 

Cam. Why so it is ! I had forgotten. Count, have I no kept 
-hose accounts in very fine order t 

Var. Yes, they appear to be in a remarkable state of preser* iidon 

Cam. They will look better when receipted. 

Var. And is it necessary that they should be paid f 

Cam, Absolutely. 

Var. Camille, suppose you charge me with this little affair 1 I am 
very idle, and want something to do. 

Cam. Oh, Monsieur de Varville, it may occupy your th»*« too 
much. But since you will have it so, the exercise may do you good. 

Var. Will you have the receipt now f 

Cam, No— no ; you may bring it in a week or so. 

Var. [Aside.] A week or so 1 Varville, you have been a fool I 

Enter Nahuti a from b. 

Nan. Madam, a man brought this letter, and said that i must 
i each you immediately. 

Cam. Who can write to me at this hour f [Looks at the Iter.] 
Armand I What can this mean? [Reads.] " Mademoiselle, ) can- 
not be trifled with, even by the woman whom I love. At the eery 
moment that I quitted your house, the Count de Varville enter *d it 
I am neither a Count nor a millionaire. Forgive me, if in mj pov- 
erty I have been too bold. Let us forget that we ever met, o- thai 
we ever thought we loved. When you receive this letter, I shall 
have quitted Paris. Armand." 
Nan. Is there any answer, mademoiselle f 

Cam. None 1 It is welL [Exit Namikb.1 Another drea** dis- 
pelled I have deserved it I should have known better 1 Wnat 
tad I to do with love ? Oh, I am sick. 

V*~. What was in that letter, Camille! 

Cam. Good news for you, Count You have gained thirtr thou* 
•a bd francs. 

Var. It is the first letter of the kind that ever came in m^ va y I 
Bnt how t 

Cam. Yon need not attend to that little affair for me. I li*- * V* 
a debt It occupies my mind. 

Var. Have your creditors died I 

Omm. Worse than that I was in lova. 

Var. Yout 

loan I! 

Pat With wl im 



1$ oAMTU-E. 

Cam. One who did not bve ni*, as often happens t A nan wh< W 
poor, as always happens ! [(Twe* Aim tfia fetter.] Kead. 

V«w. f Aside.] Phew ! I understand now why those debts no Ion 
ger trouble you. [Aloud.] My dear Camille, this is indeed too bad, 
and from a friend, too ! So Monsieur Duval, it appears, is very 
Jealous. 

Cam. You have invited me to supper. 

Var. I have. We are waited for. 

Cam. Come, I want air. 

Var. [Aside.] This begins to look serious [Aloud.] Camilla, yon 
ire agitated. What is the matter 1 

Cam. Nothing. Nanine ! Nanine ! My shawl and bonnet 
Quick I 

Enter Naninb, o. d. 

Nan. Which, Mademoiselle 1 

Cam. Any one at all. A light shawl will answer. 

[Exit Nanine, l. 1 b. 

Var. You will be cold. • 

Cam. Cold ! I am on fire ! 

Enter Nanine, with shawl and bonnet, lIb. 

Nan. Shall I sit up for you, Mademoiselle 1 

Cam. No, retire. I will not return until late. Come, Count, come. 
[Exeunt Camille and Varville, o. d. off r. 

Nan. There is something very strange going on here. Camille it 
very much excited. It was that letter, I know, that did it all. Ah, 
here it is I [Takes up the letter from table and reads.] So, so, Mon- 
sieur Duval — that is how you do. Going to quit Paris ! That is a 
very good sign. I never knew a lover of Camille who vowed he was 
going to leave Paris on her account that did not keep me answering 
the bell for three months after. [Enter Madame Prudence.] Ah, 
good evening, Madame Prudence. 

Mad. P. (r.) Where is Camille ? 

Nan. (l.) She has just gone out to sup with the Count de Varville 

Mad. P. She received a letter a few minutes since 1 

Nau. She did : It was from Monsieur Duval 

Mad. P. What did he say 1 

Nan. Nothing. 

Man P. When will she return 1 

Nan I do not know. She said I might retire— that she would no* 
eturn oarly. I thought you had retired long age. 

Mad. P. Si 1 had, and fast asleep, when I was awakened by a 
(.oiling of the bell, which is sounding in my ears ever since So 
Jain i lie is gone out, is she? I thought that letter would make mia- 
thief. 

Cam. [Entering quickly.] Give me my mantle, Nanine; this shawl'i 
too light. [Exit Nanine, l. 1 e.] [To Mad. P ] Oh, how you fright- 
aned me ! What's the matter'? 

MaJ P. That is just whM I want to know. [Points to window 
Arm* I is there 



It 

Cam. Well, what is that to me f 
Mckl F. He wishes to see yon. 

Enter Nanine lIk with mantle, which Jte place* yn Camilli'i 
shoulders. 

Cam. What for f I do not wish to see Lim, Good night Th« 
Count is waiting for me. 

Mad. P. Stay, Camille, you had better see him. He is very on 
aappy ; and better that you should explain this matter to him thai 
^,hat he should demand an explanation from the Count. 

Cam. He has changed his mind, then ! I thought he had quitted 
Par j ? 

Mad P. Camille, have you forgotten that he loves you f 

Cam. Give me my mantle, Mnnette, I must go. 

Nan, You have it, mademoiselle. 

Cam. That man has almost killed me. 

Mad. P. Then perhaps you had better not see him again. Let him 
go, and let matters rest where they are. 

Cam. \ Weeping. ~\ That is vour advice. 

Mad P. It is. 

Cam. What else did he say ? 

Mad P. That he will tell you himselC I see how it is. Love— thii 
love — the more you fan it, the more it burns. [Calls at window.] 
Armand! [To Camille.] But the Count? 

Cam, He will wait 

Mad P. Had you not better send him away at once f 

Cam. You are right Najine go tell Mom de Yarville that I am 
Qot well — that I cannot go out to night — that he must excuse me. 

Nin. Yes, Madam. [Exit o. d. off b. 

Cam, I feel better now. 

Mad P. [At window.] Armand,come! He will not require a second 
(Dvitation, I dare say. 

Cam. You will stay here until he comes. 

Mad P. No, I thank you. I will go and finish my dreams, and leave 
/ou to begin yours again. Oh, dear ! It seems as if the world wai 
m tire and all the bells were ringing in my head. [Exit o. d. off * 

Nan. [Entering.] The Count has gone, Madam. 

Cam. What did he say I 

Nmn. Nothing ; but he appeared very much annoyed. 

[Exit a J), off % 

Enter A\ hand a d. from b. 

Arm. Ah, Camille, can you forgive me f 

Cam. Do you deserve it? Why did you write me that cruel lei 
vert You have made me ill. 

Arm. What would you have me dof I saw the Count de Varvill* 
enter here the v ery moment you had hurried me away. I knew no' 
«rhat I did. I could scarce believ< my eyes. I wrote that letter— 
•ent it Forgive me, then, and -^member, Camille, though 1 hav 
Known you only a few days, I J*»* j loved you two yeara, 



20 CAMILLA 

Cam Armand, from the first hour I met you, I hai e nourished thi 
thought of passing the summer with you, far from Paris — far from 
the world, I said to myself, at the end of three months of his com 

Fanionship and care, I will be restored to health and peace of mind 
will try to win his friendship — be worthy his esteem — and, on o a: 
return to Paris, instead of the hollow hearts and serpent tongues thai 
crowd around me now, Armand shall be my only friend, protector 
brother 1 And so I dreamed, and dreamed, until that letter wcks 
me. We must part My position forbids me seeing you again, and 
everything forbids me loving you. 

Arm. Camille, you never loved me, or the Count had not bees 
iere to-night. 

Cam. Another reason why you should not love me. You have poti- 
t on, friends, honor — be wise. I have neither. I am young, gay, reck- 
Uss, desperate — my name the sport of every tongue in Paris. If yon 
t Ul know me, take what is good of me, and leave the rest 

Arm. It was not thus you talked an hour ago. 

Cam. True ! I have reflected since. 

Arm. Camille, I love you. The feeling that I entertain for you 
Uas become a part of me. My destiny hung upon your love. Think- 
>ag I had won it, I soared upon my hopes beyond my height, and it 
«s in falling from them that I am crushed. Since it is so, let us part 
Farewell 1 You do not love me. 

Cam. Oh, you know not what you say. Stay ! I would speak to 
you, but dare not 

Arm. Speak, Camille, I listen. 

Cam. Armand. every heart has its silent hours, and so has mine ; 
and in those hours I often sit and think there is a happier life than 
the one I lead, if I could but find it And there are moments when 
visions of a future flit across my brain. I think if I can lend a charm 
to such a life as this, and win the admiration and respect of the 
worthless crowd who follow me, what would it be in the sacred cir- 
e*e of a home, among those who loved and cherished me f Can such 
a future be in store for me, I ask ? And then the past spreads o'ei 
Lie like a palL A merry laugh bursts forth in mockery, and I am 
gay again. 

Arm. Go on. 

Cam. Day follows day — and so I live. I have admirers — lovers, 
k you will — the first in their vanity, the last in their esteem. 
Frieuds, too, like Madame Prudence And so the tide of time glides 
on. You came, and with you many an untold hope. I heard youi 
?oice — i saw your tears — and built my faith upon your love. Then 
I dreamed >f happiness — of hope. Your letter came next, and with it 
came reproach. Two years ago I last heard reproach. A poor, 
friendless, sickly girl, disgusted with that world, had dared to enter 
the abode of peace — the charmed circle of society. Whatever hei 
history had been, long-suffering had purified her thoughts — hei 
heart was pure — she sinned no more. But society was outraged 
With iron hand it flung her from its shore, sad left her beacon!** 
epon the s*a where she is wrecked ! 



CAMILLJ. 



21 



Ann, These words are not for me. 

Cam. No ; but these words are for me. [Points to letter , Thej 

nam me of another blast, I know my safety, and wild not peril it 
flThy should I, and for what? For jeers, contempt, and scorn f No, 
*©, no — I have tried that. That is your way, this is mine. 

Enter Na5I5B quickly, with a letter, a d. from R. 

Nan. A letter, Mademoiselle. 

Cam. Who sent it ? 

Van. The Count de Varville. 

Arm. [Suddenly.] The Count de Varville I Xow, Camille, this jc 
the touchstone of vour worth! My life — your honor, hang uoon yoa 
luswer ! [Camille tears Utter and throws it toward Nasi* 

&WX Give him that ! [Throw? herself on Armand's brt*m\ 

Music] m oy act. 



act m 

Scene. — A Room in a Country House, ytith a large trindoto. reaching to 
the floor, r. c, Nantnb discovered walking in a garden. Large doort 
e. and n.. 2 e. Tables r. a7ki l., with vases of flowers. Chairs, sofa*, dec 

Mad. P. [Entering, r. 2 e.] Where is Camille t 
Nan. She is in the garden, with Mademoiselle Nichette and Mon 
aieur Gustave. Monsieur Armand Las gone to Paris, and they hav« 
come to spend the day with Mademoiselle. [Exit] R. 2 e 

Mad. P. I will join them. 

Cam, [Entering, c] Ah, Madam Prudence, you are come. Is all 
arranged I 

Mad P. Yes ; or soon will be. I hope. 

Cam. Where are the papers J 

Mad. P. Here they are. The man will be here to-day to see il 
they are right So I will go to dinner, for I am dying of hunger. 

Enter Nichette and Gustave, c. 

Cam Come, sit down. Tell me: how do you like the way we 1W 
kr re ? 

Nick. Oh, I think you must be very happy! 

Cam. You are right — I am. 

Nick. And you are right, Camille, when you say that happiness ij 
in the heart. How often have I said to Gustave, I wish Caraiiif 
would meet with some one who would love and cherish her — who 
would win her from the feverish life she leads, and teach her con 
tentment in one more tranquil and enduring. 

Cam. Well, you have your wish. I love — and I am happy. 

N%ch. Oh it is so sweet to be happy! And w* are all tappy - 
%r« we not, Guntave I 



39 CAMILLE. 

Ous. 1 belie re we are. If, before, to-day, Nichette and I hare a at 

a separate wish, it was, Camille, to see you where you are. 

Cam, Thanks, Gustave. 

Nick After all, happiness does not cost much, if one can only fia 
the right material If you could but see where I live — two littl« 
chambers in the fifth story, in La Rue Flaneh — a window that over 
looks half of Paris — a trellis, where I have planted a geranium, tbs 
first flower Gustave ever gave me — and how it grows! — no wonder, 
for I sit and sew by it, and watch it all day. Oh, you should see mj 
little home. It is so cozy — -just large enough to hold content. 

Ghis. It must like going up stairs better than I do. 

Ntch. Camille, do you hear that saucy fellow ? You cannot guest 
what he wants me to do — to quit embroidering, and not work any 
more. He will buy me a carriage next. 

Gus. That will come. Then, Camille, you will drive out with us, 
will you not f 

Cam. Yes, Gustave, that I will 

Nick Oh, we will have such a time ! You must know that Gua- 
tave has a rich old uncle, who is going to make him his heir.' But 1 
forgot to tell you — Gustave is a lawyer, now, if you please. 

Cam. Indeed — you shall plead my first case. 

Nich. Oh he has pleaded already ! 

Cam. Did he gain ? 

Gus. No. My client was condemned to ten years' hard labor. 

Nich. Yes ? I was there, — and I was so glad 1 

Cam. Glad? Why so ? 

Nich. Because the man deserved it. I don't believe in those great 
men who fold their arms and say : " Gentlemen, I have had in my 
time, the case of a man who had killed a father, a mother, and hei 
children ! Well, sirs, I worked at that case night and day, until 1 
gained it He was acquitted. But I confess it cost me a great deal 
of labor — and in ail modesty I say that nothing short of the most 
sublime talents could have restored that ornament to the society 
which he had adorned." 

Cam. And now that he is a lawyer, Michette will soon be a bride. 
Is it not so? 

Nich. If he behaves himself. 

Ous. You hear the conditions. Then, Camille, may we not hop* 
that you too, may be a bride some day? 

Cam. The bride of whom ? 

Out. Of Armand. 

Cam. Armand ? That can never be ! Armand wou'd narry mt 
to morrow if I would have it so ; but I love him too well too merit 
tiis reproach. 

Out. Camille, you are so generous. 

Cam. Not generous, Gustave, but just. The woman does not lovs 
the man she would degrade. There are impressions made in life 
which time may erase from the memory, but never from the heart. 
My past is there. A sea of tears could not wash one rang away, 
which tells me i am unworthy to bft Armand Duval's wife. But let 



CAMILLB, W 

as talk of sc me thing else. I have so much happiness, why ask foi 
more f To be near the man I love — to hear his voice — to know hii 
truth f — Oh, my dream of life has grown so blissful, peaceful, o Urn, 
I would not dare to wake it by wearying heaven with a wish beyond 
tte present 

Nv.K How do you pass the time, Camille I 

Cam. I really cannot tell — it flies so fast After taking a loni 
mlk with Armand, I read to him, or he reads to me. Then 1 feeo 
my biids, and listen to them sing. I often sit by him and sew, whih 
Vs talks to me of the future, until I think I am in another world 
And then, as you have just seen, in this simple dress, with my grea- 
ita aw hat, I skip along the fields, or sail on the water by his side, a 
feel I am a child again ! And when sad thoughts steal by me, as 
they often do, I wrap myself up in Armand's love, and all is bright 
again! 

Gu*. I begin to think Niche tte does not love me. 

Cam Because 

Oils. Because she does not talk of me as you do of Armand. 

Cam. She has no need. You are hers — the jewel of her life — 
while mine is only lent I may admire, but dare not hope to own it 
But let that pass. Are not these sweet flowers which Armand gave 
me this morning f I used to spend as much in boquets as would 
have kept a poor family a whole year ; and now, these simple sprays 
culled by his hand, seem to load the air with perfume. Oh, how 
happy I am. But you do not know alL 

N"ick What can it be f 

Srus. Who says Nichette is curious ? 

Cam. You said awhile ago that I should see your home. Perhaps 
I will see it soon. Unknown to Armand, I am going to sell my house 
in Paris, pay all r^y debts — rent an apartment near yours — furnish it 
precisely the sar.^**— and we will live together forgetting and forgot- 
ten. In the summer we will live in the country, hire a little cottage 
—do all our owa. work — live alone — and who will be happier than 
wet 

Nick. How si ange that is. That is just what Gustave and I wew 
wishing 'o-day shat you would do. 

jVon. [Entering y r 2 e.] Mademoiselle, there is a gentleman in th« 
hall who winces to see you. 

Cam. Yot see I did not jest That is the man who has charge of 
the sale, to walk into the garden, you and Gustave. He will sooi 
be gone, and I will join you. [Exit Gustave and Nich*tte, o 

Bid him enter. [Exit Natoti l2i 

Enter Duval, b, 2 k. 

Dkv Mademoiselle Camille Gauthierf 
Cam (s. a) It is I, Monsieur. To whom have I the nonor ol 
mgf 
Duv. (a.) Tj Monsieur DuvaL 
Cam. To Monsieur Duval f 
Duv Yes, Slademoiselle, the father of Armand 



9* CAMIL1E. 

0am. Monsieur Armand is not here, air. 

Duv. I know it. But it is with you that I would speak, and I wai 
fou to listen. You are not only compromising, but ruining my sea 

Cam. You are deceived, sir. I am here beyond the reach of seaa- 
ial ; and I accept nothing from your son. 

Duv. Which means that he has fallen so low as to be a sharer of 
he gain which yoi accept from others. 

Cam. Pardon me, sir. I am a woman, and in my own house,* 
two reasons that should plead in my behalf to your more generoui 
©ourtesy. The tone in which you addressed me is not what I hare 
been accustomed to, and more than I can listen to from a gentleman 
whom I have the honor to see for the first time. I pray jotl will 
allow me to retire. 

Duv. Stay, Mademoiselle, when one finds himself face to face witt. 
you, it is hard to think those things are so. Oh, I was told that j>ou 
were a dangerous woman. 

Cam. Yes, sir 1 dangerous to myselt 

Duv. It is not less true, however, that you are ruining my son. 

Cam. Sir, I repeat, with all the respect I have for Annan d'i 
father, that you are wrong. 

Duv. Then what is the meaning of this letter to my lawyer, which 
•pprises me of Armand's intention to dispose of his property, the 
gift of a dying mother f [Givet her a letter 

Cam. I assure you, sir, that if this is Armand's act, he has done 
•o without my knowledge; for he knew well that had he offered 
«uch a gift, I would refuse it. 

D*w Indeed ! you have not always spoken thus ! 

Cam. True, sir ; but I have not always loved. 

Duv. And now 

Cam. I am no longer what I was. 

Duv. These are very fine words. 

Cam. What can I say to convince you ! I swear by the love I 
bear your son, the holiest thing that ever filled my heart, that 1 
wa* ignorant of the transaction. 
, Duv. StiL you must live by some means t 

Cam You force me, sir, to be explicit. So far from resembling 
other associations of my life, this nas made me penniless. I p*ay 
you, read that paper. [Handing a paper.] It contains a list of all 
that 1 possess on earth. When you were announced just now, I 
ihought you were the person to whom I had sold them. 

Duv. A bill of sale of all your furniture, pictures, plate, Ac, with 
jrtdch to pay your creditors — the surplus to be returned to you 
fiave I been deceived ? 

Can*. You have, sir. I know that my life has been clouded — Oh, 
poo do not know me, sir! You can never know how purely I de 
love your son, and how he loves me 1 It is his love which has saved 
me from myself and made me what I am. I have been so happy fei 
three months ! And you, sir, are his father. You are good, I an 
•or<i I know you would rot harm me, Then let me entreat yot 



CAMILLA S5 

will »u4 '+£ Hie? i!l el me, or he will believe yon, for he lores jom 
so ; and 5 kl*o love and honor yon, because yon are his father/ 

Dm. 1 *iion m* fr>r the manner in which I presented myself ts 
von. I * as arrry at my son, for his ingratitude to his dead mother, 
m disposing of her gift to him. I pray yon, pardon. 

Cam. Ob, sir, it is yon have all to pardon. I can only bless yo* 
for those kiid words. I pray you take a chair. 

Duv. It is in the name of these sentiments, which, yon say, are m 
•acred to yon, that I am about to ask of you a sacrifice greater than 
tny you have yet performed. 

Cam. Oh, heaven ! 

Duv. Listen, my child, and patiently, to what I have to say. 

Cam. Oh, sir, I pray you Jet us speak no more. I know yon are 
giing to ask m<* something terrible. I have been expecting this. I 
was too happy. Yet over my brightest hour there has always hung 
a cloud. It was the shadow of you* frown. 

Duv. Camille, I am not going to chide, but supplicate. You lovs 
my son — so do L "We are both desircus of his happine«s — jealous of 
those who could contribute to it more than we. I speak to you «*» 
a father, and ask of you the happiness of both my children. 

Cam. Of both your children f 

Duv. Yes, Camille, of both. I have a daughter, young, beaut . 
ind pure as an angeL She loves as you do. That love has been * u 
dream of her life. But the family of the man about to marry he?, 
has learned the relation between you and Armand, and declared tb* 
withdrawal of their consent unless he gives you up. You see, then, 
how much depends on you. Let me entreat you in the name of 
your love for ner brother, to save my daughters peace. 

Cam. You are very good, sir, to deign to speak such words as 
thes<* I understand you, and you are right I will at once quit 
Paris, and remain away from Armand for some time. It will be » 
sacrifice, I confess ; but I will make it for your sake. 3 e sides h* 
joy at my raturn, will make amends for my absence. You wi* 
sllow him, to write me after your daughter is married I 

Duv. Thanks, my child ; but I fear you do not wholly understand 
me. I would ask more. 

Cam. What could I do more t 

Duv. A temporary absence will not suffice. 

Cam. Ah, you would not have me quit Armand forever I 

Duv. You must 

Cam. Never 1 To separate us now would be more than cruel — fo 
would be a crime. Oh, sir 1 you have never loved I You know not 
what it is to be left without a home, a friend, a father, or a family. 
WTien Armand forgave my faults he swore to be all these. I hava 
grafted life and hope on him till they and he are one. Oh, do not 
tear him from me the little while I have to live 1 I am not well, sir. 
I have been ill for mon4hs. A sudden shock would kill me. Ask 
anything bnt th.s. Oh, do not drive me to despair 1 See, 1 Am it 
four feet 1 

Duv. Rise. Camille ! I know that I demand a great sacrific* front 



46 CAMILL1. 

youi heart ; but one thtJt, for your own good, yon are fatally forced 
to yield. Listen. Ton have known Armand three months, and yon 
love him. Are yon sure you have not deceived yourself, and that 
even now you do not begin to tire of your new choice, and long for 
other conquests I 

Cam. On, spare me, sir ! Unworthy as the offering of my love may 
seem, Armana's heart was the first shrine in which it ever sought a 
sanctuary, and there it shall remain forever ! 

Duv. You think so now, perhaps ; but sooner or later the truth 
must come. Youth is prodigal — old age exacting. Do you listen I 

Cam. Do I listen f Oh, heaven ! 

Duv, You are willing to sacrifice every thing for my son ; but 
should he accept this, what sacrifice could he make you in return t 
Bay that Armand Duval is an honest man, and would marry you,— 
what kind of union would that be which has neither purity nor reli- 
gion to recommend it to the grace of heaven, the smile of friends, or 
the esteem of the world \ And what will be your fate to see the 
man who sacrificed position, honor, all for you, bowed down with 
shame of her who ought to be his pride t 

Cam. Oh, my punishment is come ! 

Duv. Avoid what may yet come. Say that you love, both, as none 
have ever loved. The warmest sun will set at eve. And when the 
evening of your life steals on, Armand will seek elsewhere the 
charms he can no longer find in you ; and with every trace of age 
upon your brow, a blush will rise on his, accusing him of youth, and 
hopes, and honor, lost for you ! 

Cam. My dream is past I 

Duv. Dream no more, CaniiUe ; but wake to duty to yourself, and 
to the man you love. 

Cam. Why — why do I live f 

Duv. And should you die, would you have your husband stand 
upon your grave, ashamed to breathe the name of her who lies 
there I No, Camille, you are too proud for that I leave to your 
heart, to your reason, to your affection for my son, the sacrifice I 
might demand. You will be proud some day of having saved Ar- 
mand from a fate he would have regretted all his life — which would 
have brought on him the idle jest and scorn of every honorable 
man. Pardon me, Camille ; but you know the world too well to 
doubt the truth of what I say. It is a father who implores you t* 
save his child. Come, prove to me you love my son. Give me your 
hand. Conrage, Camille, courage! [She slowly gives her hand] 
Bless you, bless you ! You have done your duty. 

Cam. You desire, sir, that I separate from your son for his good 
nis honor and his fortune. What am I to do I Speak — I am ready 

Duv. You must tell him that you do not love him. 

Cam. He will not beLeve me. 

Duv. You must leave Paris. 

Cam. He will follow me. * 

Dm. What will you dot 

Omm I must teach him to despise me. 



CAMILLB. 17 

Duv. Bat. Camille, I fear — 

Cam. Ah, fear nothing I He will hate me ! I will teach him. 1 
know how ; for I have taught myself. 

Duv. Arniand must not know of this. 

Gam. Sir, you do not know me yet ; for I swear by the love I beat 
your son, that he shall never know from my lips what has transpired 
b >tween us. 

Duv. Yoq are a noble girl ! Is there aught that I can do for you ? 

Cam. When the heart that now is breaking lies pulseless in the 
gra\e — w»ien the world records my very virtues to my blame — when 
Axmand's rofce shall rise with curses on my memory — tell him — Oh , 
veil him how I loved him! And now, I pray you will withdraw into, 
that room. He may return each moment, and discover our purpose. 

Duv. Camille, you have saved my life — nay, more, you have pre- 
served my honor. Heaven biess you for the sacrifice. 

[Exit Duval, l. 2. e. Camille staggers to table r. to write. 

Cam. Oh, I cannot ! Every word I trace seems to tear from my 
heart a hope that never can take root again. [After a struggle writes.] 
What shall I say? [Heads what she has written.] " Armand, in a few 
hours from this, the little flowers you gave me this morning will be 
withered on my breast, and in their place, Camelias, the badge of 
that life in which alone I can find happiness." Oh ! heaven, forgive 
the injuries these words may bring to him, and the injustice they do 
my heart ! [Folds the letter. Enter Armand 

Arm. Ah, Camilla, here I ami What are you doing there? 

Cam. Armand I Nothing 1 

Arm. You were writing as I entered. 

Cam. No 1 That is — yes I — 

Arm. What does this mean ? Yon are pale! To whom were yon 
writing ? Camille, let me see that letter. 

Cam. I cannot. 

Arm. I thought we had dene with mystery. 

Cam. And with suspicion. 

Arm. Pardon me, Camille, — I was wrong. I entered excited, and 
saw in you my own embarrassment. My father is arrived. 

Cam. Have you seen him ? 

Arm. No ; but he left at my bouse a letter, in which he reproa.^iet 
me very bitterly. He has learned that I am here, and doubtless 
will pay me a visit this evening. Some idle tongues have been busy 
in informing him of our retreat But let him come. I wish him to 
lee you — to talk with you. He will be sure to love you. Or should 
he remain stern for awhile, and refuse his smiles, what of it? Hi 
can withhold his patronage bm me ; but he cannot separate nu 
from your love. I will work, toil, labor for you, and think it a priri* 
lege and a joy, if I have but your smile to repay me at its close. 

Cam. How he loves me I But you must oe wise, and not augei 
your father unnecessarily; for you know he has much cause to 
blame. He is coming, you say. Then I will retire awhile until he 
speaks with you — then I will return, and be with yen a^ain. I will 
Call at his feet, and implore him not to part u» 



28 CAMILLE, 

Arm. Camille, there is something passing m your mind that yiii 
«rould hide from me. It is not my words that agitate you so. Yon 
ean scarcely stand. There is something wrong here. It is this let- 
ter. [Snatches the letter from her. 

Cam. Armand — that letter must not be read 

Arm. What does it contain? 

Cam. A proof of my love for you. In the name of that love) re- 
turn it to me unread, and ask to know no more. 

Arm. Take it, Camille. [Gives back letter.] I know it all. Madam 
Prudence told me this morning, and it was that which took me to 
Paris. I know the sacrifice you would make, and while you were 
eonsidering my happiness, I was not unmindful of yours. I have ar- 
ranged it all unknown to you. Ah, Camille, how can I ever return 
§uch devotion, truth and love? 

Cam. Well, now that you are satisfied and know all, let us part — 

Arm. Part? 

Cam. I mean, let me retire. Your father will be here, you re- 
member, and I would rather he would bee you alone. I will be in 
the garden with Nichette and Gustave. You can call me when you 
want me. Oh, how — how can I ever part from you ? You will calm 
your father, if he be irritated, and win him to forgive you. Will yon 
not ? Then we will be so happy — happy as we have always been 
since first we met I And you are happy — are you not ? And have 
nothing to reproach me for — have you? Since first I met you I wel- 
comed in my heart of hearts your love, believing it a sign from 
heaven that the past had been forgiven. If I have ever caused youi 
heart a pang, you will forgive me — will you not ? And when yon 
recall, one day, the little proofs of love I have bestowed on you, yon 
will not despise or curse my memory f Oh, do not — do not curse 
me when you learn how I have loved you I 

Arm. Camille, what does this mean ? 

Cam. Love for you ! 

Arm. But why these tears ? 

Cam. Oh, let them fall ! I had forgotten. Do not heed them. 1 
am such a silly girl I You know I often love to weep. See, I am 
ualm now. They are all gone. Come, chase them away. [He kisse* 
ier brow.~\ See, now, they are all gone. No more tears but smiles. 
You, too, are smiling. Ah ! I will live on that smile until we meet 
again ! See, I too can smile ! You can read until your father conies, 
end think of me ; for I shall never cease to think of you. Adieu 
[A tide] forever! [Exit r. 2 a. 

Arm. How she loves ne. She fears my father may separate us. 
It is too late. The woild would be a blank without her. [Calls.] 
FTinnette! [Enter Naninb r. 2 e.] A gentleman, my father, will 
arrive here presently. If he ask to see Madam, say that I am here 
awaiting him. 

Nan. I will, sir. 

Arm. Give me a light. [She gives a light and exits.] Let me see 
what we have here. [Takes letters from his pocket.] I met Olimpe 
to-day Always the lame — busy with balls and fetes and reverie* 



CAMILLA 2ft 

0i id\ kinds. I oor fool ! She has but one thought herself. Hot 
heart is empty, and she tries to fill the void with noisy bustle and 
excitement. Bere is an invitation to her ball next week— as if 
i 'amille could ever again lend her presence to such scenes. Seven 
o'clock I My father should be here. What book is this ? I cannot 
read. It seems as if the time stood still when that girl is from my 
side. I will call her in. [Rings bell. Naninb enters r. 2 B.J Thtt 
gentleman will not be here to-night Tell Madam to come in I li 
«row3 too cold to remain in the night air 

Nan. Madam is not here, sir. 

Arm. How I Where is she, then ? 

Nan. I saw her go down the road. She told me to say to you, 
iir, that she would return presently. 

Arm. Very well! [Exit Naninb] Where can she begone! I 
think I see her form in the garden. [Calls.] Camillel Camilla 1 
No, there is no one there. [Calls again.] Nanine ! Nanine 1 
[Rings bell impatiently.] Nanine! I say ! No answer! What can 
this mean f This silence makes me shudder ! There is a desolation 
in that quiet that forebodes no good. Why did I suffer Camille to 
leave me ? There was something she would hide from me. She 
appeared confused when I entered — and then she wept ! I will go — 
[As he hastens towards the door, Mes. enters r.2i 

Mes Your pardon, sir. You are Monsieur Armand Duval ? 

Arm. I am. 

Mes Here is a letter for you, sir. 

Arm. Who gave it to you ? 

Mes A lady. The garden gate was open. There was no on* 
about. I saw a light here, and I thought I might enter. 

Arm. You were right Leave me. [Exit Messenger r.2e.] It it 
her handwriting. [Music] Why have I not the power to Gpen it I I 
tremble like a child. [Duval enters (l. 2 o.) unperceived and gazet 
intently upon Armand, who opens letter and reads aloud.] "An hour 
after you will have received this letter, Armand, I shall be with the 
Count de Varville," [Be staggers back, sees his father. 

Duval. Armand, my son! 

Arm. Father ! my heart is shattered ! ! 

[Music, Sinks in his father's arms. «* 



ACT IV 

Scene.- -A splendt I room in the house ofOUmpe.— Parties dancing m 
the baSc as curtain lises. — Others at tables playing cards, l. h. i<» 
front. — Madame Prudence, Olimpb, Gaston, Annibelle, Ab 
wub, Guests ana Gustave discovered. — At the close of the da%m 
Armand entert o. d. 

Mad. P. Why, here is Armand ! We were just speaking of von • 
moment since. 

Arm. And what were you saying? 

Mad. P. I was saying that you were at Tours, and that yen wool j 
•ot be hero to night 



tO CAMILLB. 

Ann Well, you see 3 on were mistaken, for I am 1 

Mad P. When did you arrive f 

Arm, An hour ago. 

Mad P. Have you seen Camille I 

Arm, I have not. 

Mad P. She will be here to-night 
, Ami Ah, indeed 1 Then perhaps I may see her. 

Mad P. Perhaps you may see her ! How strangely yon talk! 

Ann How would you have me talk? 

Mad P. You are cured, then ? 

Ann. Oh, perfectly! Else why should I be heret 

Mad P. So you have ceased to think of her? 

Arm. No ; I cannot say that, for it would be untrue But I eon 
fcss the souvenir is not a very flattering one to her, nor pleasant ons 
U> me. 

Mad P. Oh ! I really think she loved you then, and even love* 
you still — that is a little ; but it was quite time she did leave you. 
Even the old Duke refused to contribute a sous unless the relation 
between you were sundered. She was forsaking her friends — wasting 
her means — and everything she possessed was being sold to pay her 
debts. 

Arm. It is different now ? 

Mad P. Yes, very different 1 

Arm. All her debts are paid? 

Mad P. Every one I 

Arm, By the Count de Varville I 

Mad P. Yes! 

Arm. So much the better! 

Mad P. And so I tell her. That is just what I think — and I am 
glad you have come to your senses and think so too. Now every- 
thing goes well. Horses, carriage, jewels, are all returned ; and the 
luxury in which she lives would make you wonder how she could 
•lay so long in that cage in which she lived with you in the country. 

Arm. She is in Paris, then ? 

Mad P. Yes ! She will be here soon. I have never seen her as 
•he is now. She is scarcely an hour at home — operas, balls, suppers — 
and as for sleep, that scarcely visits her any more. After she left 
you, she was three days confined to bed ; and the moment she got 
well enough to be out again, her revelry began ; and so she has kept 
It up at the expense of her health, and I may say her life. For if 
•he continues this, it cannot last long. Even now she looks more 
like a statue than a living thing. 

Arm. [SeHng GustaveJ Madame Prudence, here is a friend t* 
whom I would speak. Will you have the goodness to excuse me ? 

Mad. P. Oh, certainly ; for I must sit down, or I shall faint witk 
• unger. I wish they would hurry up the supper. [Go*$ up 

Arm. [Taking Gustavk's hayid] So you received mv Utter f 

Qu*. I did — and am here. 

Arm. You thought Camille loved me— did you no** 

Qua. I did — and do still think ho 



0AMILLB. 1' 

Arm Read. [Give* m iMtor. 

Ghis. Did Camille write that? 

Arm. She did 

Gus. When! 

Arm, One month ago. 

Gus. And what was your reply I 

Arm What could it be ? The blow was to sudlen that I thought 
I «ho*M go mad. She will \ e here to-night with Count de Varville 
1 have come here to meet him. 

Gu*. Armand, tor heaven's sake, be calm 1 Reflect where you are, 
U, indeed, Camille be false, she is unworthy of youi love — and ask 
yourself if injury from such as are assembled here to-nighc be worthy 
the resentment of a gentleman. 

Arm. Gustave, you are an honest man. I may require to-night 
the service of a friend. May I count on yours \ 

Gus. You may, sir ; although I wish it were to serve you in a 
worthier cause. 

Arm. For your sake. To me it is more than worthy — it is sacred. 
[Points to letter.] These words were penned by her; but never 
emanated from her heart They are the echo of the sweet word* 
that scorpion Count de Varville has been hissing in her ear. It if 
with him that I would speak. By my hopes in her, which he ha* 
blasted — by the infamy he has labeled on her name — I have sworn 
to be avenged I 

Usher. [ Without] Mademoiselle Camille Gauthier and Count de 
Varville. 

Arm. She is here. 

Enter Camille and Vab. villi, a from m. 

01% How late you are. 

Var. "We have only now returned from the opera. 

Mad. P. {To Camille.] How lovely you look, my child— are y<m 
well? 

Cam. Oh, very well I 

Mad. P. Armand is here. 

Cam. Armand t [7hrn» and sees him. They bow coldly. He got* to 
tard table l.] Oh, I was wrong to come to this ball to-night I 

Mad. P. Well, you would have to meet some day ; and it may aa 
well be soon as late. 

Cam. Oh ! how pale he is ! 

Var Camille, Monsieur Duval is here. 

Cam. I know it 

Var Are you sure you did not know he would be here before yo* 
tame f 

Cam. Certain. > 

Var. Then promise me you will not speak to hira. 

Cam. I cannot promise that. f Goes to sofa a. m 

Gus. Good evening, Camille I 

Cam. Gustave I Oh how glad I am to see you ! And NicheU*— 
to w U she f 



n CAMILLK. 

Gus. Very well! 

Cam. But why are yon here f This is not your custom. 

Gus. Nor was it yours of late, Camille. What is the matter f 

Cam. Oh, Gustave, I am so unhappy ! Leave me. 

Gus. Why have you come here f 

Cam. He would have it so. But it is well ; for each night p&M+d 
thus shortens the number of my days. 

Gu8. Camille, leave this place, 

Cam. Wherefore? 
1 Gas. Because Armand 

Cam. I know he despise* me. 

Gus. No I He loves you I He is not well. You see how pale he U- 
He is much excited. I know not what may yet transpire between 
him and Count de Varville. 

Cam. A duel I You are right, Gustave. I will leave instantly. 

Var. Where are you going, Camille f 

&am. Count, I am not well. I pray you lead me hence. 

Var. I understand, Camille. You would retire because Monsieur 
Duval is here. While I appreciate your consideration, I cannot con- 
sent to be driven from the place in which he chooses to intrude hi* 
presence. Know that I neither respect nor fear him. For that rea- 
son, you are here, and here you shall remain ! 

[She sinks back on the sofa. 

Oh, What was the Opera to-night f 

Var. La Favorite 1 

Arm. The story of a woman who deceived her lover. 

Gas. A very common case. 

Arm. Oh! but she loved him; or she said so— much the same 
thing! 

Gab. Quite the same. You can never tell when they do or when 
they don't Their words are all alike. Yet we, poor devils, trust 
them to the last ; for, in spite of all experience, man is but man. 

Arm. And woman is but woman I 

Oli Why, my dear Armand, what a frightful game you are play- 
ing? 

Arm. Yes ! I would test the proverb : — " Happy at cards, unhappy 
n love I" 

Gas Then I must be fearfully lucky at cards ; for a more unlucky 
devil at the game of hearts 

Arm. [Interrupting him.] Hearts ? Diamonds ! Play Diamonds if 
you will win women ! My friends, I hope to make a fortune to- night 
And when I shall have made it, I will go and live in the country. 

Oli Alone ? 

Arm. Oh, no With one who accompanied me there before, and 
who left rae because I was poor I but I have found the way to bring 
ker back again. It is this ! [Throws gold coin up in the air.] Gold 1 
Gold I At its magic sound the truant bird will perch upon my hand I 

Gu*. I pray you, sir, forbear ! See, your words have made her ilL 

Arm. Then why is her friend silent? That was his cue! But he 

%h%ll speak I [Turns tr company.] It i« a very good story, by th« 



iray. I must relate it It is quite romantic ; foi there is a nobH 
man in it — a great count — very rich in pocket i but history doe* not 
record the extent of his honor ! 

Var. (l.) [Advancing.] Sir I 

Cam. (a ) Varville, if you provoke Monsieur Duval, never speak U 
Rie again. You know me I 

Arm. (o.) [To Var.] Did you speak to me, sir! 

Var. Yes, sir! I was about to say that the happy vein which 
| our fortun 3 has struck to-night tempts me to venture mine! Be 
«des, having learned from you how I may catch the bird, perhap* 
rou will instruct me how to keep it. I too would test the proverb 
i propose to take a lesson. 

Arm. Which I will endeavor to teach you. 

Var. I hold a hundred louis, sir. 

Arm. Be it so. What side, sir! 

Var. The one you reject # 

A rm. A hundred louis to the left ! 

Var. A hundred louis to the right I 

Arm. [To St. R] Hold the cards. 

Gas To the right four — to the lett, nine. Armand has gained. 

Var. Two hundred louis, then 1 

Arm. As you please. Two hundred louis f But have a care ; if tht 
proverb says : " happy at play, unhappy in love," it also says : " Un- 
happy in love, happy at play I" 

Var. I have no fear, sir ! 

Gas. Again : — six — eight — Armand has gained 

Oli. Good ! So, Count, you must pay for the champagne. Let m 
to supper. It is time we were at table. 

Arm. Shall we continue the game f 

Var. No — not for the present 

Arm. I owe you a revenge ; and I promise to pay it at whatevei 
game it may please you to adopt Till then I will remain your debtor 

Var. It shall not longer burthen you. I accept your will to be re 
leased from the obligation, and shall await your payment at the earli 
est moment 

Oli. [Taking Armand's arm.'] You have been ill-humored all tin 
night. 

Arm. It is over now ; for I have won the gams. 
[Exeunt Armand, Olimpe, Gustave, Gaston, and Company off u 

Var [To Camille.] Come with me. 

0am T will join you presently. I would speak with Mad. Pru- 
»O01 

Var If in ten minutes you are not with r j there, [Pointing U 
mpper room.] I will return. You understand. 

Van*. Leave me. [Exit Varville, a off l. To Mad B.l Go find Ar> 
fund, and entreat him to come to me. I must rp«ak to nim. 

Mad P. If he refuse 

Cam. He will not He will seize the opportunity to tell me how 
ke hates me. [Exit Mad. P. c. and off l.] What's to be done f I mail 
continue to deceive him. I made a sacred promise to his father. It 
«mit not be broken. Oh, heaven ! give mo strength to keep it But 



&4 CAMILLA 

this duel I How to prevent it I Peril honoi , life, for me * Oh I No, m 
no f Ratner let him hate, despise me ! Oh t he it here I 

Enter Armand, a from i» 

Arm* Madam, did you send for me I 

Cam. I did, Armand I I would speak with you 

Arm. Speak I I listen, 

Cam. I have a few words to say to you — not of the past 

Arm. Oh, no ! Let that be buried in the shame that shrouds it 

Cam. Oh ! do not crush me with reproach. See how I am bowed 
before you, pale, trembling, supplicating. Listen to me without 
hate, and hear me without anger. Say that you will forget the past, 
and — give me your hand. 

Arm. [Rejecting her hand] Pardon me, Mademoiselle. If youi 
business with me is at an end, I will retire. 

C^j/u Stay- I will not detain you long. Armand, you must leave 
Paiis. 

Arm. Leave Paris f And why, Mademoiselle I 

Cam. Because the Count de Varville seeks to quarrel with you, 
and I wish you to avoid him. I alone am to blame, and I alone 
should suffer. 

Arm. And it is thus you would counsel me to play the coward' $ 
part, &nd fly— Jly from Count de Varville ! What other counsel could 
come from such a source I 

Cam. Armand, by the memory of the woman who you once loved 
— in the Dame of the pangs it cost her to destroy your faith — and in 
the name of her who smiled from heaven upon the act that saved 
her son from shame — even in her name — your mother's name — Ar- 
mand Duval, I charge you leave me ! Fly — fly — anywhere from 
here — from me — or you will make me human ! 

Arm. I understand, Mademoiselle. You tremble for your lover— 
your wealthy Count — who holds your fortune in his hands. You 
shudder at the thought of the event which would rob you of his 
gold ; or, perhaps, his title, which, no doubt, ere long you hope to 
wear. 

Cam. I tremble for your life I 

Arm. You tremble for my life ! Oh, you jest I What is my life or 
death to you f Had you such a fear when you wrote that letter I 
[Takes out a letter and reads.] " Armand, forget me. The Count hat 
offered me his protection. I accept it; for I know he loves me." 
Love you ! Oh, nad he loved you, you would not have been her* 
U> night These were your words. That they did not kill me wa 
no fault of yours — and that I am not dead is because I cannot die 
until I am avenged ; because I will not die until I see the words you 
have graven on my brain, imprinted on the blood of him who 
wronged me ! And should your life strings crack to part with him, 
he shall not live ; for 1 have sworn it ! 

Cam. Armand, you wrong him 1 De Varville is innocent of all 
that Las occurred ! 

Arm. He loves you, madam I 7 hat in his crime — the sin that he 
Bust answer for f 



CxMILLlE. 19 

Oam. Oh, could yon but know his thoughts, they w wild ttfli yo« 
that I hate him ! 

Arm. Why are yon Am / Why here — the plaything of his Tanity, 
the trophy of his gold t 

Cam, Oh, heaven 1 Armand 1 No-— no ! this must not be. Yon 
may retire ! I have no more to say. Do not ask me, for I cannot 
toll I 

Arm. Then I will tell you I Because you are heartless, truthless, 
and make a sale of that which you call love to him who bids the 
highest ! Because when you found a man who truly loved you, who 
devoted every thought and act to bless and guard you, you fled from 
aim at the very moment you were mocking him with a sacrifice you 
had not the courage to make. Horses, house and jewels must bs 
parted with, and all for love ! Oh, no 1 that could not be ! They 
must remain unsold, and so they did ! They were returned, ana 
with them, what f The bitter pangs of anguish and remorse which 
fill your breast, even while it heaves beneath a weight of gems! — 
the fixed despair which sits upon that brow on which those diamond! 
look down m mockery ! Aiid this is what the man you love has 
done for you! These are his triumphs — the ^ ages of your shame! 

Cam. Armand, you have pierced my heart — you have bowed me 
in the dust ! Is it fit that you should die for such a wretch as you 
have drawn? Is it fit that you should taint your name in such a 
cause as hers? Remember those who love you, Armand! — your 
sister, father, friends, Camille ! For her sake do not peril life and 
honor ! Do not meet the Count again ! Quit Paris ! Forget youi 
wrongs for my sake ! See, at your feet I ask it in my name I 

Arm. On condition that you fly from Paris with me ! 

Cam. Oh, you are mad ! 

Arm. I am indeed ! I stand upon the brink of an abyss, whence 
1 must soar or fall ! You can save me. A moment since I thought I 
hated you. I tried to smother in my breast the truth, that it wai 
love — love for you / All shall be forgotten — forgiven ! We will fly 
from Paris and the past ! We will go to the end of the earth — away 
from man — where not an eye shall feast a glance upon your form, 
nor sound disturb your ear less gentle than the echoes which repeat 
our tales of love ! 

Cam. This cannot be ! 

Arm. Again! 

Cam. I would giv6 a whole eternity of life to purchase one short 
hour of bliss like that you've pictured now ! But it must not be ! 
There is a gulf between us which I dare not cross ! I have sworn to 
iorget you — to avoid you — to tear you from my thoughts, though it 
should uproot my reason 1 

Arm, You have sworn to whom f 

Cam. To one who had the right to ask me ! 

Arm, To th*> Count de Varville, who loves you ! Now say that jm 
love him, and I will part with you forever I 

Cam. [Faltering.] Yes, I love the Count de Varville! 

Arm. [RuxheA to supper-room door, and violently dashes it opm%f 
Snter all! 



M CAMILL1. 

All the Character* in the Act rush m. 

Cam. What would yon do t 

Arm. Ton will see ! [To guests.] Yon see that woman f 
Olitnpe. Gamille I 

Arm. Yes 1 Camille Gauthier ! Do yon know what the bat iot el 
All No! 

Arm, But yon shall! She once sold her horses, carriage, dia 
i onds — all to live with me, so much she loved me ! This was gene 
1 us — was it not t But what did I do f You shall hear ! I accepted 
Oris sacrifice a* her hands without repaying her ! But it is not too 
iate ! I have "epented — and now that I am rich, I am come to \ ay 
it back ! Yor . k \\ bear witness that I have paid that woman, and 
that I owe her » othing ! 

[He throw* a shower of note* and gold upon Camille, who ha* 
thrown herself at his feet. Be Varville advances suddenly ana 
strikes hin\] 
Varv. ,r £is fal*e! You owe me revenge ! 
[Music. — Aa iand springs at him, but is held by Gustave and 
Gaston— 3amille (b. a) leaning on Madame Prudence-— 
Tableaux.] 

END OF AOT, 



ACT V. 

Bcenb — A poorly j srnished chamber. A window, (h. 2 E.) — A fire- 
place, (h. 2 e.)- Clock over fire-place with hands pointing to eight 
o'clock.-~2\tble l. -Camille discovered asleep on a couch, (a) and 
Gaston on a « tain 

Gaston [Waking.] I verily believe I have had a nap. I wonder 
if she wanted anytk ng. No, she sleeps. What time is it I [Looks 
at clock.] Eight o'citck. I wish this room would stand still a mo- 
ment. There's something the matter with my head. Ugh ! ugh ! 
ngh ! It is very cold Stay, she must be cold too. I thought there 
was a fire in this rooi i when I lay down. Oh I here it is. [Fist* fir* 

Cam. Nanino are you there t 

Gas Yes! heie I tarn. 

Cam. Who is that f j 

Gas Gaston It is only Gaston ; 

Cam. You frighten me. 

Gai [Giving a cup of tea.] Drink, first, and then yon shall know 
ail about it. Is it awe .1 enough f 

Cam. Yes, Gastoc iust as I like it 

Gas I thought so. I begin to think that nature intended me ior 
• nurse, 

Cam. What have yon done with Nanin* t 

Gas Sent her to bed. When I came heie two hours ago, 1 found 
a man at the door giving her a little of his mind upon the matter of 
some accounts that were standing against her on his bread bilL 1 
slid not exactly like ths manner in which he expressed himself and 
to 1 told him. Whereupon he chose to direct his ooi versa tion U 



CAMILLE. 87 

me. Harding him the amount of his claim, I was just ia the act o! 
banding him out at the window, when it suddenly occurred to me 
that the noise might wake you ; so I ended the affair by giving hin 
a gentle impetus, which sent him down stairs upon an improved plan 
of speed. 

Cam, But Nanine — 
Ga» Well, the poor girl looked worn out with fatigue. She 
eould scarcely keep her eyes open. I told her to go to bed. I en- 
tered here. You were fast asleep. I placed myself on that sofa near 
the fire, listened to the ticking of the clock until I fancied I was back 
waltzing in the ball-room I had just left; and when I awoke just 
now, such a turning round as this little room kept up ! Then I must 
trim the fire and make a noise and wake you. That was too bad. 
But I always was an awkward fellow. 

Cam, Oh, you are so good to come and stay with me. But you 
must be fatigued \ 

Gas Fatigued I Ha! ha! Well, I think when I give all my 
nights to balls and masques, it would be hard if I could not spare an 
hour of the morning to watch a poor sick girl ; eh ! Camille I But 
how are you to-day f You have not told me yet. 

Cam, I feel much better. When Nanine awakes, I think I shall 
get up. 

Gas Good! [Enter Nanine a. h.J And here she Is. So I 
will just get my coat that I left in the entry, and be with you in a 
moment There, Ninnette, get her up. 

[Exit Nanine l. h. — Nanine helps Camilla 

Cam, Poor girl ! you must be very tired. 

Nan, No, Mademoiselle ; I could never tire in your service. [Cam 
elle kisses Iver,] Oh, thank you, mademoiselle. 

Cam, Ninnette, you have been a faithful friend. 

Nan, Oh, Mademoiselle, I never can forget that I was once an or» 
phan, without a friend or a home, and that I fcund both in your care. 
Gas [Entering.] Here we are. Why I declare, my little pa- 
tient look» well to-day — all the result of my nursing. But here, you 
want a pillow, don't you? [Places a pillow for her head] Now we 
are all right [Exit Nanine 

Gam, How can I ever repay such kindness I 
Gas By forgetting that you owe it Let us talk of something 
else. It is a beautiful day. You have slept well all night In an 
hour or two the sun will oe high. I will come for you in a carriage, 
wrap you up in shawls — we will take a long drive — I shall get you • 
little bird — you shall eat it on y^tir return — then you shall scold me 
$>r making you so tired — you will lay your head down softly on yoni 
eiLow and sleep till morning. Will that do f 

Cam. X>o you think I will be strong enough f 

Gas To be sure you will. Besides, am I not your nurse f Yoi 
must obey your nurse, you know. And now I will go and see m? 
mother. It has been fifteen days since she laid eyes on me. She will 
give me a reception Ah, I am a bad boy, Camille, and dcn't deserve 
to have so good a mother. 

fhm. If she but knew ycur heart 



I 



M CAMILLA 

Qqa Yes! I think myself that little machine called heart 
weuld not work so badly if it were properly managed. Good-bye 
Oh, Camille, do you i* ant your key f That is, would you require it 
The key of that little drawer, I mean. 

Cam. 2 T o, there is nothing in it 
Gat That was just what I thought ; and so I locked jt, lest it 
Night get out. You will find the key in that little box od top 
there, should you want it before I return Good-bye I 

Cant. Stay I What have you done t You have filled my little 
parse. Is ii not so I 

Gas Never mind ; we will talk of that again. Camille, whj 
was it empty ? Why did I find you here this morning in suffering 
and in want? 

Cam. What could I do t 
Gas You could have sent to me. 

Cam. You, on whom I never bestowed the favor of a smile, scarce- 
ly a kind word. 

Gas And what of that t I am sure I deserved worse than 
that : for I know I was a great fool. Helene could tell you that. She 
knows it. But never mind. You must let me be your brother, and 
I will come here every day and nurse you until you get well. Dc 
fou know, Camille, I have grown tired of the first edition of my 
ife. I think I will issue a second, revised and corrected, with notes 
by the author, and see how it will look in new type. What do you 
think of it ? 

Cam. I think well of it, Gastok and so will your mother. 
Ask her counsel — tell her your wish — and she will help you to it 
Make her love the altar of your truth, and it will rise before you as 
a pillar of fire to guide you in adversity. 

Gas I will go to her now, and tell her what you say. You wilJ 
b* ready in an hour. 

Cam, Yes, good-bye. Remember all that I have said 
Gas It shall lie upon my heart like a prayer. [Exit, a tk 

Cam. I remember the time I used to laugn at him. Where is the 
crowd who smiled upon me then ? And he is here. 
Mnier Naninb a d. with a small box y and putt it on table, l. a, new 

Camille. 

San. Mademoiselle, here are some presents, I am sure. 

Cam. Presents t Oh, I remember, it is new-years* day. The la* 
urouglt many changes. This day twelve-month ! Ah, Nani5B those 
4 iv? aie gone. 

Nan. Would you not like to see what these contain, mademoiselle f 

Ca.n. Yes, let me see. A ring, with Gaston's card. Bless him! 
(»h, he is so good to think of me. A bracelet from the dear old 
lhiktf. lie does not know that I am ill. Ah, if he knew how change i! 
I am, he would forgive me. Bonbons from Nlchette and Gustave. 
The world has a better memory than 1 gave it credit for What in 
this! A letter from Michette. [Heads.] 4< My dear Camille: — 1 have 
called twep*.y times, but I have never been permitted to see you. J 
hrpe you tM-f rery well 1 wish y«yu a happy new-year ; for it i* 



CAMILL1. 89 

the- happiest of my life. It is my wedding-day. (V^tire and 1 
desire you will be present at the ceremony. It 1* all we want to 
make our joy complete. Do pray come. The ceremony will take 
place at ten o'clock, at the church St. Madeleine. Believe me, your 
very happy and devoted friend Nichette." It is her wedding day 
This day brings happiness to ali but me. Here, Nanine let m« 
4 ave a pen and paper. [Nanine gets them. Writes] Tbere now 
•end that lstter to the church St. Madeleine, and tell tie bea^e* no* 
© hand it to Nichette until after the ceremony of her marriaf* 
f ou understand ? 

Nan. Yes, Mademoiselle. 

Cam, 8ome one rang. Open *he door. 

[Naninb exits and immediately re-enters. 

Nan. It is Madam Duverney. She says she mnst see you. 

Cam. Then let her enter. 

Mad. P. [Entering.] Well, my dear Camille, how are you thit 
morning 1 

Cam. Better, I thank you. 

Mad. P. My dear Camille, will you have the goodness to send Na- 
nine out of the room a moment 1 I would speak to you alone. 

Cam. Nanine, you can take that letter to Madeleine yourself, if yon 
wish. You have need of a little air. 

Nan. But, madam, I do not like to leave you alone. 

Cam. Prudence will remain with me till you return. 

Nan. Yes, madam. [Exit. 

Mad. P. [Aside.] That girl watches me when I enter this room as 
if I were a thief. Well, my dear Camille, I have a favor to ask of you. 

Cam. What is it 1 

Mad. P. Have you any money about you, dear 1 

Cam. Money ! Where could I get it 1 The last money that T saw 
was in your hands. Nanine obtained it on the last jewel I possessed. 
She gave it all to you. I have not seen you since. 

Mad. P. I know, dear ; but I have had such trouble. I thought 
Olimpe could oblige me ; but she is as badly off as I am. You know 
she ran off with that man, because she thought he was rich. Well, it 
turns out that he is as poor as a church mouse. So here she is, back 
in Paris, without a friend or a sous. She sent me to Gaston this morn- 
ing, begging him to forgive her, and to take her back. But, oh, deai ! 
if you had seen him when I gave him her letter ! 

Cam. Have you seen him this morning 1 

Mad. P. Not five minutes since. I saw him at the ball last night. 
He said he was going to breakfast with his mother. So I went then 
End found him. 

Cam. What did he say 1 

Mad. P. Oh, dear, don't ask me . He even showed the letter to hL 
mother, and then threw ii in the fire. And then she kissed him. I 
really don't know what to say to Olimpe ; for as sure as I am sitting 
here he seemed to cry for very joy that he was rid of her, or some* 
thing else, I cannot say. 

Cam Oh, he is with his mother 1 I am happy. 

Mad. P. Yes, I don't know what Olimpe will do ; for thomgh shs 



A) oaxillx 

did not lore him, he ^ as very convenient. Poor girl ! thia wL* not hi 
A very happy day for her. We can spend it together; for I assure yon 
I have only got five francs in the world. 

Cam. Three hours ago I had not one. How much do you want 1 

Mad. P. Unfortunately I invited some friends to a supper to-night 
Besides some other expenses that always come with new-years* day 
you know. Yes, I think two hundred francs would cover it all. Yum 
couldn't lend me that little sum until the end of the month, could 
you dear 1 

Cam. The end of the month ! I shall not need it then. Count thai. 
[Take8purs€ which Gaston placed in Casket, and gives it to her. 

Mad. P. Oh, dear ! what a pity you are not well, Camille. We could 
ail come and dine with you to-day ; then you would join our supper 
in the evening, and we could have such a delightful time I 

Cam. How much is there 1 

Mad. P. [Counting.] Five hundred francs I should say. 

Cam. Take of it what you require. 

Mad. P. Have you enough without this, dear 1 [Puts purse in he* 
pocket.] Perhaps I am robbing you 1 

Cam. Never mind me, I have all that I shall want. 

Mad. P. Oh, thank you ! You have rendered me a great service. 
Now I'll leave you. I will call to-morrow and see how you are. Oh, 
you are looking better to-day, indeed you are. Now that the fine wea- 
ther is come, the country air would do you good. 

Cam. See if Nanine be there. 

Mad. P. I will, dear ! Good-bye, and thank you, again. Perhaps 
I will call in this evening. You will not feel lonely until Nanine re- 
turns — will you, dear 3 

Cam. Oh no, — you may go. 

Mad. P. That's a dear ; for I have some purchases to make. Then 
I must go to bed, for I can scarcely keep my eyes open. [Exit. 

Cam. And that was one of my friends ! Oh what is death compared to 
life like that 1 [Takes out a letter and reads.] " Madam I have learned 
ef the duel which has taken place between Arraand and the Count dt 
Varville — not from my son ; for he has quitted France without even 
saying adieu to me ; but from the Count de Varville, who, thanks to 
heaven, is out of danger, and has told me alL You have kept your 
oath, and proved how well you love. I have tnis day written to 
Armand, avowing all : that it was I who forced you to destroy hii 

fteace. He is far away ; but he will soon return. Be of good cheer. 
t is Armand's father speaks to you. Believe me, your irieud : George 
Duval. November 16th." Six weeks have passed since I received 
this letter, and though I know it word for word, the hour scarcely 
passes that I do not read it over in hopes to glean from it new li/i 
and courage. If I could but hear from him I If I could but live till 
Spring I I will ! I must, yes, I must see him before I die ! [Looks 
in the glass.] Oh 1 how changed I ami However, the doctor says 
that he will cure me ! Yes I Yes ! I must have mtience ! Spring wiD 
toon be hero and I do so love the Spring ! Nc frown upon her br*w 



otbids the humblest flower to hope. She smiles on all %like -- ti« 
eamslia and the cowslip, the daisy and the rose 1 May I not hop* 
that she will smile on me ? I wish Nanine were come. It is the 
first day of the year, — the day that brings new life to every heart 
Oh, if Armand were only 1 ere, I am sure I would be saved. Yes! 
Yes . he will soon be here, — and so I must be well ! [Rises and opens 
window and looks out.] Oh, how bright and beautiful every thing 
appears 1 And there's a darling little child. See how it skips along 
with an armfui of toys 1 And how it laughs and looks up here as 
though it wished to give me one. Oh, how I would like to kiss it 

Nan. [Entering hurriedly.] Oh, Madam, are you up t 

Cam. Yes, Nanine I did you give the letter f 

Nan. Yes, Madam 1 And then I ran back all the way ; for ohl- 
but are you sure you are well enough to hear — I mean U- sit up t 

Cam. Oh, you see how well I am. I walked over here myseif/ 
Am I not grown strong f 

Nan. But you must promise me to keep perfectly calm I 

Cam. What's the matter f Something has happened. 

Nan. Yes, Madam ! And I ran all the way to tell you. But doo't 
be frightened, for a sudden joy awaits you ! 

Cam. A joy, say you? Aye I speak to me of joy I You have seei 
Armand! He is come! Armand, come— -come! Oh, where ar* 
jrouf [ISnte* a-RMAND.] Armand, you are come, but it u too late 

Arm. Oh, Jamille! You must not speak of death, but life I 
Live, oh ! live for me I [Places her on couch c 

Cam. Armand, it is wise — it is well — it is just! I have been 
guilty. Living, the memory of that guilt would haunt me like i 
spectre ! It would flit between me and your smile ! It would stand 
upon the platform of the past, growing monstrous, hideous with my 
vears, darkening with its fearful shadow my passage to the close ! 
beath's kindly veil will hide it from my sight — the world #ill bury 
its resentment in my grave, and remembering my sufferings may for- 
get my faults ! 

Arm. Camille, you were my world! With you I had all things- - 
without you nothing I 

Cam. Closer, closer, Armand, and listen while I speak ! Armand, 
keep this. [Giving likeness.] I had it taken for you long ago. You 
will gaze upon it often, I am sure, and think of me. And if some 
iay a lovely, pure, chaste girl, should seek your love, I ask you is 
my name to listen to her kindry and let her lay her heart upon the 
•Jbiine which once was mine. And if she ask you who this was — 
toll her. day it was a young friend who loved you well, and who 
from her peaceful home beyond the sky keeps vigil with the start, 
shedding smiles upon you both 1 If this silent image cost her heart 
one pang, bury it in my grave, without remorse, without a tear ! 

Arm. Oh! Camille! Camille! Hope smiles no more for me! 

Cam. Armand, the day I met your father, I wore upon my breast 
these little flowers, the same you gave me in the morning. When T 
»eft you that evening and came to Paris, I took the flowers and 



kitted them ; but they were withered, bloomless, faded — end wilt 
them every little hope that blowomed on my heart 1 I have kept 
them ever since. [Takes flowers from casket] See how pale and 
blighted they have grown. They are called " Heart's-ease ' — a 
pretty name 1 Armand, keep them. They will remind you he w 1 
loved you — and when 1 am dead, olant others like them on tfu 
grave where I shall sleep in peace. 

Enter Najtihi, Niohette, Gustavb and Gabtoi 

Arm. Gustave, this is a bitter hour. 

Mch. Oh, Gamille I how you frightened me ! Fou wrote me yoi 
irere dying I 

Cam, And so I am, Nichette 1 But I can smile, for I am happy 
You, too, are happy. Tou are a bride. Tou will think of me some- 
times — will you not f And Gustave, too — you will speak of me to* 
gether t Armand, come ! Tour hand 1 You must not leave me 
Armand here, and all my friends 1 Oh, this is happiness 1 And 
Gaston tool I am so glad you are come I Armand is here, and I 
am so happy 1 Oh, how strange ! 

Arm. What is it, Camille If 

Cam. All the pain is gone! Is this life! Now everything apptaff 
la change. Oh. ho* beautiful ! Do not wake me— I am m ■leejrjp 

4m rtoatil* Gaax&e! Ow^Uel Dealt teal 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



003 425 727 9 4 




Conservation Resources 



